


The Mirror of Life

by StarsGarters



Series: The Mirror of Life [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Purge: Anarchy (2014)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Alternate Universe - Harem, And their butts, Belts, Blood Play, Boot Worship, Brainwashing, Coitus Interruptus, Cutting, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Decapitation, Declarations Of Love, Drug Use, Drug-Induced Sex, Evil Steve Rogers, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fingering, Flogging, Foot Massage, Gang Rape, Gang Violence, Gender or Sex Swap, Gore, Hand Feeding, Hospitals, Hydra Steve Rogers, Illness, Intercrural Sex, Knives, Laundry, M/M, Mirror Universe, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, PTSD, Pantyhose, Pillow Talk, Pornography, Post-Coital Cuddling, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Rape, Regret, Revenge, Rule 63, Sadism, Sarongs, Self-cest, Service Submission, Sex Pollen, Stabbing, Strap-Ons, Suicide Attempt, Taunting, Temper Tantrums, Theft, Tickle Fights, Tickling, Time Travel, Torture, Urination, Vampires, Wrongful Imprisonment, cabin fever, genital wounds, impotency, it started out as trash and morphed into a bizarre sex road trip comedy?, more torture, noncon bubble bath, nylons, performance anxiety, property damage, questionable altruism, questionable happy endings, the docks, very bad things happen to very bad people, you've sinned just reading this tag list
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-01 17:29:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 47
Words: 68,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5214533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsGarters/pseuds/StarsGarters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brock Rumlow, professional double agent and bag of dicks, gets blasted into a mirror universe. He's used to knowing all the angles, but now he's just got to survive being rescued by Steve Rogers, Captain HYDRA.</p><p>The second half of this crack fic extravaganza focuses on the bizarre universe hopping road trip orgy/sex comedy that is the trio of Captain Hydra, good!Jack and the Commander. </p><p>They'll try to kill each other after they get home, like gentlemen.</p><p>Every single tag happens in chronological order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Зеркало жизни](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6042958) by [Saysly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saysly/pseuds/Saysly)



He did _not_ sign up for this shit. 

Terrorists? Sure. Domestic insurgents? Of course. Asgardian gods? _No fucking way_. That was not in the contract. Where the hell was Rogers? What was the point of having a super-soldier on his team if he wasn’t taking down these extraterrestrial threats?

Brock Rumlow snuck a glance around the corner and the otherworldly portal swelled and pulsed with power. He could feel the vibrations as they rattled his teeth and the hair on his arms stood on end. The Asgardian was chanting, her voice raising in a powerful crescendo. 

Brock took aim at her head. God or not, that would probably put a twist in her panties. Night night sweetheart. 

She glanced up and he saw her smile. He squeezed the trigger right before she whipped her hand out at him. A blast of power caught him in the chest, just as the bullet glanced off her skull. She went down.  

Lucky shot, Rumlow thought, before his lungs seized up and his vision blackened from oxygen deprivation. 

The portal howled and Rumlow felt himself pulled towards the sucking void. 

It was a fucking stupid way to die. Rollins would never forgive him—

 

He heard gunfire before his eyes opened. Gunfire and a familiar voice. “Get that perimeter covered!” _Rogers_. Rumlow curled into a fetal position and coughed. He wasn’t dead yet, but the way his ribs ached made him reconsider the blessing as more of a curse. He was bruised from neck to nuts. 

“Hey there, _hero_.” The history books never mentioned how much of a smartass Steve Rogers was. 

Rumlow cracked open a bleary eyelid, “The Asgardian?” He couldn’t see quite right, but that was definitely Rogers’ patrician profile in the dusky light. “I think I got her. But it would have been nice to have some backup, Cap. Report!”

“The fall scrambled your brains.” Rogers touched Rumlow’s forehead, a small gash bled copiously. Rumlow winced and flinched away. Rogers was such a mother-hen.

“Yeah, maybe. But you’re not in charge yet, Big Guy.” 

“You’re a very funny man, Brock Rumlow. Yes, I know your name. I know a great deal about you.” 

“God I would hope so.” It didn’t hurt to roll his eyes, that was good. “Makes that pathetic hand job you gave me in the locker room a little less awkward.” That usually shut Rogers up when Brock was feeling particularly spiteful.

It didn’t work, if anything it made Rogers’ eyebrow quirk in curiosity. “I know everything about you, because you are such a phenomenal pain in my ass. Brock Rumlow, the poster child of SHIELD. You practically wear a halo, sanctimonious twit. No wonder you’re single.”

 _Single_? Where was Rollins? “I’m not in the mood for this shit. I need med evac and my radio got smashed by that Asgardian bitch. Need to check in.” Rumlow paused, “Why are you looking at me like that?” It seemed very familiar, like a hungry predator—

Rogers got on his hands and knees and straddled Rumlow in the dirt. That was new. Rogers cocked his head to the side, “STRIKE agents don’t usually drop out of the sky, at least not without a parachute.” 

“Well, _you_ do. Fucking show off.” Rumlow blinked, his head ached like someone had played soccer with it, “Stop fucking around Rogers.” He struggled limply. 

Rogers laughed as if that was the funniest thing he’d heard all day and that laughter— wasn’t _Steve’s_.

“I feel that I need to clarify my position, son. You see, your team and my team aren’t the same,” Rogers drew a lazy line in the blood dripping from Rumlow’s hairline and licked his fingertip. He sighed as if Brock’s blood was the sweetest elixir. “But I do love fucking around. And all of my HYDRA buddies would be so put out if I didn’t invite them to the party.”  

 _Shit._ “Wait— what? HYDRA?” This couldn’t be happening. Rogers tapped on his armored chest, the demonhead emblem was clear as day as he squinted. “There’s no way! You can’t be HYDRA! I’m—“

 “Not too bright, are you son? Good thing you’re so awful pretty.” He easily picked up Rumlow’s body by his crossbody holsters and gave him a little shake that rattled Brock’s brains, “Really like the harness, by the way. I call ‘em _fuck handles_.” Rogers casually backhanded Rumlow across the face into unconsciousness. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

As he regained consciousness, Rumlow took stock of his situation. He was bound and blindfolded, not black-bagged. It was cold, grouted tiles smooth beneath his fingertips. He was naked, except for his harness. That little detail made a shiver run up his spine. 

Steve Rogers was HYDRA. It boggled his mind, but there was no mistaking both that face and the emblem. This had to be another world. Asgardian magic and that portal, nothing good ever came out of portals in time and space. Just ask New York. 

The air had a distinct aroma of sulfur and wet dog. 

He knew exactly where he was. One of the HYDRA facilities beneath an industrial refinery, he’d done many, many fun things there in the past. Wherever he was, some things stayed the same. He thought about the one constant in his life, Rollins for a moment and smiled. 

“What the fuck are you smiling about?” It wasn’t Rogers’ voice and the whiny quality to it made Rumlow roll his eyes beneath the blindfold. Not intimidating in the least. 

“Oh, I was just thinking about those pictures of your mom.” A warm stream of liquid hit him in the chest. The smell told him exactly what was happening. 

_Amateur._ You waited until after you’d cut up the guest before you pissed on him. Made the wounds sting. Now anyone who touched him was going to get piss hands. His grin got bigger and he shook with suppressed chuckles. 

“I think he _likes_ it?” The pisser’s voice was lightly horrified. “The poster child for SHIELD likes getting pissed on?” How deep was his cover here if everyone assumed he was the best of SHIELD? Maybe he _wasn’t_ HYDRA here. 

_Fuck_.

Better to not let anyone know that he wasn’t on the side of the angels. He just had to make it out of here in one piece and the moment the little pisser got close enough, Brock would see how hard the bastard’s head bounced off the tile floor. 

“He likes other things better. So I have been told.” That was Rogers’ voice, smooth and collected. Worst of all, patient. Rumlow’s grin faded. “Tell me about them.” 

The pisser sighed and rattled off, “So I picked him up in a bar, just like you ordered me to. He made me dinner. It was pretty good actually. Something with poached salmon and quinoa? He wanted to know all about my family and my life goals.” 

Rogers coughed and the pisser continued with spiteful glee, “And he’s the noisiest greedy little bottom I’ve ever met. That hole didn’t even need stretching, just welcomed me in like a girl. Made me add a couple of fingers so he could really feel it.” 

“And then?” 

“Then he cried in gratitude and demanded a cuddle.” Rumlow’s mouth quirked in a disgusted frown. Maybe he’d just put his other self out of his misery. If Steve was HYDRA then hypothetically the other Rumlow was a complete pussy. “A fucking cuddler. He snores.” Yep, he had to go. Rumlow had a reputation to maintain and it wasn’t that of a _cuddler._

 “He didn’t have that tattoo though.” What tattoo? He didn’t have any ink. 

“That’s a Norse rune. It means _sacrifice_.” Rogers said. A magical tattoo? Well, it could have been worse. He could have had a tramp stamp of the word WELCOME. 

“What do you think Brock? May I call you Brock?” Brock felt Rogers grip his chin and tilt it up. 

“You need better intel. I can’t cook worth shit.” Rumlow spat. “And a better janitor. Smells like a urinal in here.” 

Rogers rewarded Brock for his sass by a light condescending slap on the cheek. His fingernails dragged along Rumlow’s jawline and trailed down his throat. Rumlow swallowed involuntarily.

Rogers wore the same scent in both worlds. Spicy and warm, old-fashioned. It was confusing the hell out of him. Stupid concussion or magical hangover, who knew what the fuck was wrong with his brain. 

But he wasn’t a _cuddler._

“Clean him up. Inside and out.” Rogers walked away, his footsteps crisp on the tile. 

Rumlow had a sneaking suspicion that he’d be seeing the inside of the White Room. He’d dragged the Winter Soldier in there often enough for clean up. He knew all the sweet little goodies stored on the white walls. Intimately. He had no desire experience any of them firsthand. 

“Why?” The pisser dully asked. Other Rumlow had really fucked this lunkhead? It was so hard to find good help these days and this dude wasn’t even in Westphal’s pathetic league. Was Westphal— a really good guy here too? 

“Because I don’t fuck dirty things. I make them dirty while I do it.” Rogers paused and said, “Really, I just want to wipe that smirk off your face.” 

Brock retorted, “Better men than you have tried.” He was already in for some not so fun and games, might as well show a little backbone. If Rogers was anything like his counterpart back home, a little respect might do wonders towards keeping Rumlow breathing and mostly in one piece. 

A few steps and Rogers whispered in his ear, “Yes, but were they as enthusiastic as I am? I’m your biggest fan. I’ve even got your action figure.” He clamped his teeth down hard on Rumlow’s tender earlobe and Brock yelped in spite of himself. The bastard drew blood, Brock panted in pain.

“Mmm. Delightful.” Noisy smacking of lips. “Make me happy pet and no one else gets to play with you.” Rogers pressed his fingers into a bruise on Rumlow’s ribcage. “And those noises, son? Those are really doing it for me.” 

Rumlow sucked his breath in between his teeth. “Okay, but I get to be on top.” 

Rogers laughed, slapped him once more for fun and walked away. Rumlow’s head rang from the impact and he barely noticed the sound of the pressure hose spigot. 

He immediately noticed the enema attachment. Even the Hulk would have noticed that. He thought about Rollins and the vacation cabin in the woods. That was safe, that was warm and kind. 

Rumlow hated this world. Hated his stupid weak alter ego, hated the dude who didn’t know how to work the nozzle right and most of all, he hated Steve Rogers. Didn’t matter what world he was in, Rogers was a literal pain in his ass. 

 And pain brought order. Order through pain. 

When the vacation cabin stopped being a comfort, Rumlow ran the floor plan of the White Room in his head, the inventory and the specs. Planning his escape was better than all the roaring fireplaces and crisp mountain air in either world.

 


	3. Chapter 3

They brushed his teeth. 

That was the creepiest thing ever. He’d have to remember that for later. Rumlow respected innovation.  

Peppermint toothpaste lingered in the space between his crowns. He was minty fresh. Couldn’t even taste the blood from the careless mook’s finger. That would teach that bastard to let his guard down. Maybe it’d get infected later. 

He got tossed onto his knees, the floor was carpeted. _Shit._ There was only one carpeted room in this complex. It wasn’t the White Room. It was Pierce’s special study. 

Pierce. Was he still in charge of HYDRA? Hell, was he in charge of SHIELD in this fucked up world? So many questions, but only one goal: Stay alive to get home. 

The door shut behind him and Brock listened. It was quiet. That was the benefit of all the soundproofing and baffles. Pierce took his privacy seriously and the rumors of what he did in this room ran wild. 

Brock knew the truth. Pierce liked to take a nap and needed near perfect silence to nod off. But he didn’t tell anyone that, not even Rollins. A man needed his secrets. 

He seriously doubted that nap time awaited him. 

For a big man, Rogers was light on his feet. Walked like a dancer on the balls of his feet. Looked like a loon when he ran, but no one could catch him. But Brock still heard the rustle of carpet pile against boot soles. Probably because Rogers wasn’t trying to be quiet. 

Hot breath on the back of his neck. “Did you enjoy the spa treatment?” 

“Should’ve used a coupon.” Rumlow grunted. He blinked as the blindfold lifted from his eyes. They ached as the light, dim as it was, touched them. “Mood lighting?” he asked. 

Rogers stood before him. Massive in both worlds, but why did he always insist on wearing high-waisted pants with button downs? A wide leather belt accentuated his trim middle. “Despite what you may have heard about me, I’m not a cruel man Brock.” 

Rogers leaned back against a table. On either side of him, were two innocuous objects. One was a slender silver rod, the other a white disc. If he hadn’t just had the mother of all colonics, Brock would have shit himself. 

“Choose your own destiny. I’ll only use what you pick.” Rogers looked at his fingernails. “Unless you stall and then I’ll use them both.” 

Not the silver rod. That was a supercharged stun baton. He’d seen the Winter Soldier bite clean through his mouthguard once when the techs tested it on him. 

Not the white disc either. That was a neuro-destabilizer. Depending on where it was applied he’d be incoherent or incontinent for months. Both did permanent damage. 

The proverbial rock and a hard place. _Shit._  

He could do this. _Think you bastard, think._ The other Brock was a wuss and Rogers here was into that. All he had to do was think like a pansy and— suddenly the idea snapped into his brain. “You swear. You swear that I can pick something and whatever I choose, you’ll only use that on me?” 

“Yes, yes.” 

“Do you swear on your honor as a soldier?” 

Rogers looked mildly offended. “Have you ever been to war son? Real war? Not these tidy wars with drones, missiles and airstrikes from a million miles away, but only dirt, blood and savagery? You ever slit a man’s throat just to see how long it took for them to drop?”

Brock nodded, he had many times. “If your knife is sharp enough, they don’t even notice. For a moment, anyway.” They stared at each other for a few heartbeats and Rogers blinked first. 

“I swear on my honor as a soldier.”

The harness chafed at his skin as he shuffled forward on his knees, slowly. He tossed his hair back out of his face and looked up at Rogers through his eyelashes. 

He paused and leaned forward, pressed his lips in a wet kiss against the leather of Rogers’ belt. 

Rogers looked confused, so Brock clarified, “Your belt. I want it.” He licked the belt buckle with his tongue. “You promised.” 

Rogers pressed Brock’s face hard against his crotch. Brock complimented himself on a well-performed show. “That was clever, boy.” 

Then wickedly strong fingers wound themselves in Brock’s hair and pulled his head back, exposing Brock’s throat. “Too clever. I think I may have underestimated you.” He leaned over and sucked a red welt into Brock’s tender skin, laving the bruise with his tongue. 

Brock closed his eyes and thought about Rollins. About the smell of gun oil and motorcycle grease. He choked back a groan in his throat, swallowed it. No, don’t think about Rollins. Don’t think about lazy Sunday mornings and the newspaper. Don’t think about kissing up against the gun range wall. Don’t. Think about baseball. Stupid baseball. 

With one hand, Rogers unbuckled the belt and slid it out of the loops. “But I think you underestimated me as well.” He doubled it in his hands and snapped the leather together, a whip crack in the silence. 

Brock flinched. He couldn’t help it. Years of training to fear the belt from his foster dad. There were only so many ways a belt could harm, could hurt you and he knew them all. 

Pain brought order. Order through pain. 

His foster dad wasn’t nearly as strong as Steve Rogers. He fell on the floor with a cry as the leather lashed out and struck his bruised ribs. “Now, now. That was nothing.” Rogers ran his fingers over the belt welt. 

“Sure felt like something.” Brock wheezed out. “Maybe a mosquito?” A little defiance to sweeten the victory, Brock knew that bluster was the first step towards being broken. Even the Winter Soldier had snapped back a few times before learning to respect his betters. 

That earned him another stropping. Soon the backs of his legs were striped with welts. He didn’t even attempt to stop the tears flowing from his eyes, the snot dripping down his face. Rogers held Brock’s head up by his hair, he tilted his head back and forth. He was looking at Brock as if he were a lovely piece of art. He ran a thumb over Brock’s cheekbone and stuck it in Brock’s mouth. 

A test, of course. Brock closed his teeth lightly on Rogers’ thumb, but relaxed them and let Rogers rub the pad of his thumb over Brock’s tongue. “Suck.” A single order that Brock obeyed with gusto. He sucked like he needed rent money. “Good boy. Now show me that you’re not stupid.” Rogers’ voice was thick and honeyed with lust. 

 Brock glanced down and looked at the belt. Rogers held it up and Brock swallowed hard. He looped the belt around his neck, threaded the buckle and slowly, dramatically pulled it tight. He looked down at the carpet and offered him the long loose end of the belt. A makeshift leash and collar. 

Brock hazarded a glance upwards. Rogers was breathing heavily, his face flushed red. _Bingo._ The first time the Winter Soldier had done that Brock had jerked off to it for a month straight. It was a damn good thing that Brock had a gift for acting. Came in handy for everything except _apologies_ , never really got the hang of those. 

Rogers lunged for him, wound the belt leather in his fingers and kissed Brock. Kissed him messily and with a savage hunger as if he’d been waiting decades for the opportunity to debauch his adversary. 

He pushed Brock down on the carpet, knelt on one knee, the belt still wound in his fist. “Lick.” Brock decorated the toe of Rogers’ leather boot with artful kisses and when that didn’t work fast enough he gave it a spitshine with his tongue, looking up at at the super soldier with his best cock-hungry gaze and then he whined. He whined like a petulant puppy and the sound went straight to Rogers’ cock. 

A wet stain spread on the khaki fabric. Captain HYDRA had just come, untouched, in his pants. Brock hid his smirk by ducking his head. Really? He knew he was good, but _that_ good? Did bad old Steve have a crush on him?

He decided to push his luck and inched slowly forward, hisabused legs throbbing with pain. Through glazed eyes, Rogers watched in fascination as Brock licked at the semen stain. He jerked the leash and it tightened on Brock’s throat like a choke chain. “What do you say, pet?” Rogers barely got the words out. 

Brock turned his head away and when he was sure that he had Rogers’ complete attention, he whispered “ _Please_.” 

And nearly puked in his mouth. 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 Brock kept what shreds of dignity he possessed by thinking about how he would kill all the people who witnessed Rogers making him crawl down the corridor to his quarters. 

“Nice ass hero!” That one would get dropped off the top of the Triskelion. Tall enough that terror would set in before terminal velocity did. 

“Save a piece of that for me!” Little bit of kerosene and a lighter. 

“Here comes the bride!” That asshole was getting strangled so Brock would watch his stupid face turn purple beneath his fingers. 

That jeer seemed to inspire Rogers because he scooped Brock up bridal style in his arms. The pressure on the belt bruises on his legs made Brock shudder in pain. “Oh come now, _darling._ Let me carry you over the threshold.” 

Brock bit the inside of his cheek to stop from spitting in Rogers’ face. He had a part to play, so he meekly said, “It hurts.” He was so tired, his bones ached. 

“Good.” Rogers replied and hit the door controls with his hip. “Pain gives you focus.”

“Order through pain.” Rumlow muttered and Rogers blinked. 

“I _like_ that. It flows. Think I’ll steal it.” The door shut behind them with a sleek pneumatic hiss. 

Brock wasn’t listening. He was staring at the wall above Rogers’ bed. It was covered in pictures of him. Magazine covers. Newspapers. Glossy recruitment posters. And on a shelf, an action figure with genuine Kung Fu Grip. 

It was a shrine. A demonstration of devotion from his biggest fan. “Fuck me,” he murmured. “You collected all this crap?” 

Rogers nodded and set him down on the neatly made bed. He snapped cuffs on Brock’s wrists. “Every clipping. Told you I was your biggest fan.” Brock was framed by photos of himself smiling, waving for the cameras, aiming his gun and holding up the flag in triumph. “Now, now I have completed my collection.” The satisfaction in Rogers’ voice made Brock’s stomach lurch.  

“Not an action figure. Just a guy.” Brock’s mouth went dry. “Not that flexible.” 

Rogers grabbed a handful of his harness and yanked him up from the bed. “Can’t wait to find out exactly how flexible you are.” He threw Brock back on the bed, “Don’t disappoint me.” Brock’s head bounced on the mattress. 

“You’re too good for them.” Rogers gestured to the door. “I won’t let them touch you,” He made a derisive sound through his perfect teeth. “Unless you _make_ me.” Brock knew that was a lie. There was nothing better than the humiliation of a gang rape to make the guest of honor cling to the slim hope of being rescued by anyone, even the person who set up the gang bang. 

He’d rather not have his asshole stretched from here to Saturday, not with his hemorrhoids. So his only other option was making Rogers feel like he’d already been properly broken. 

 He looked above the headboard at hundreds of photos of his own face. _You did this to me_ , he thought. _I will make you pay for this._ “If I am really this good, why haven’t I stopped you?” He was stalling and he’d better work up some respectable tears soon. 

“Because I don’t exist, of course.” Rogers’ expression darkened, “I’m always in the shadows. A ghost. A legend to frighten soldiers. Fury won’t let me out to truly place fear into the hearts of the public. Says I’m just one man, says I’m not ready yet for the power.” He clenched his hand into a fist. 

“Stupid blind old man. But you know better, don’t you?” He crawled onto the bed with Brock, slowly raking him with his blue-eyed gaze. “I saw the fear in your eyes the moment you heard the word HYDRA.” 

 Brock clenched his eyes shut as Rogers dusted his fingertips against his cock. “Fear is only the symptom. Loss of control is the true enemy.” 

“Do you always talk like a propaganda poster?” Rogers traced the edges of his harness. 

It was a stupid thing to leave Brock with. They hadn’t even taken out the hidden garrotte or more importantly, the lock pick in the webbing right above his thumbs. The cuffs seemed to be standard HYDRA issue, not tight enough for his hands to go numb, but tight enough to dissuade dislocating his thumb. 

“Why are your hands so cold?” Brock hissed, “Did they just defrost you?” 

Rogers jerked his hand back and then it clenched around Brock’s throat. “How do you know about the cryostasis pod?” 

“It’s only— common sense! I mean, it’s not like you crash landed a plane in the Arctic, right? Something ridiculous like that. You’d have to be like ninety years old!” 

“Ninety-six.” Rogers smiled and stroked Brock’s pulse with his thumb. “So you know things about me too?” 

Brock swallowed, “I know so much about you. You want to know a secret?” Rogers leaned in, his blue eyes steely with intent. 

 “I was a pretty big fan of yours too. Learned about you in history class. I mean, you’re on the wrong side, but you have to respect all that strength.” 

Rogers unbuttoned his shirt and kicked off his shoes. 

“All that speed.” The shirt went on the floor with the shoes. His body was just as magnificent as his counterparts back home, but there were strange marks burned into his skin. They looked like electrode contact points. Maybe the transformation process didn’t go as smoothly here. Why was Brock thinking about the old newsreels featuring the Red Skull? 

“That agility.” Rogers unbuttoned his pants, slid them down his narrow hips. More scars, old ones. 

“You’d have to be a blind man not to be impressed by your face too. A killing machine with the face of a centerfold.” Rogers straddled him, his erection heavy on Brock’s abdomen. He lazily slapped Brock’s face, splitting his lip. The taste of copper flooded his mouth and he let the bloody spit dribble out. It was an esthetic choice. He’d always liked his guests to bleed artistically.  

“You would say anything to talk your way out of this.” Rogers purred. He walked his fingers up Brock’s chest and flicked the tip of his nose playfully. 

“What is this?” Brock challenged. He wriggled under Rogers’ weight, showing off his muscles. “You gonna fuck me?” This was the dangerous part. He looked up under his lashes and bit his swollen, split lip. “Or are you going to make love to me?” 

Rollins never could resist this, so he was betting that it would make Steve ponder his actions for a moment or two. He reached down and grasped Rogers’ huge hard cock with his bound fingers. He worried the foreskin back and forth, peeling it away from the glans and Steve shivered. “That’s it. You’re so magnificent.” Brock cooed. 

“Shut up.” Rogers grabbed his wrists, but didn’t stop his deft touches. 

 He opened his mouth and while Steve watched, Brock licked the salty precum off of his fingers, sucking each one. “Make me.” 

Rogers was flushed red again, he looked as if he wanted to fuck Brock’s face into the soft pillows, but he hesitated.

“I know your game, Brock.” He manhandled Brock into position, flipping him on his stomach. “I don’t want your fingers. I don’t want your mouth. I want this.” Cold fingers pressed on Brock’s taint. “And because I respect you, I’ll even use slick.” 

“I’m so grateful.” Brock muttered into the pillow. This was going to hurt. Rogers was bigger than anything Brock had ever slipped up there. He didn’t like getting fucked, preferred blowjobs and rutting between thick muscular thighs. But this was traditional and Rogers had some stupid fucking crush on the other Rumlow that was only going to get satisfied by getting balls deep. 

It wasn’t possible to hate another human being more than Brock hated that other Rumlow. The thick slick blunt head of Rogers’ cock pressed against his asshole. “No foreplay, huh?” His breath hissed in between his teeth as Rogers penetrated him, the burning discomfort sharp and familiar.

There was a pause. “You— you are much tighter than I had been led to believe.” The super soldier panted, gripping the harness with both hands. 

“And I can’t cook worth shit either!” Brock gasped as Rogers began a relentless punishing pace, snapping his hips. “Bad intel!” The sound of damp skin slapping together was deafening in the silence of the quarters. 

Brock thought about the night when Jack had kissed him in the SHIELD parking garage then walked away like it was no big thing. Brock had chased him down and kissed him as he was sitting on his bike. “Want to go for a ride?” Jack asked. 

“Just as long as we’re talking about the same kind of ride here. I don’t ride bitch in the bedroom, if you know what I mean.” Jack smelled like the bulk all in one soap in the locker room dispenser and gun oil, the stubble on his lips just sharp enough to make Brock’s skin burn. 

“Suits me fine. Can you cook in the morning?” 

“I can make coffee. That’s about it.” 

Jack nodded and patted the seat behind him. “Hang on. I don’t let just anyone ride.” Brock pressed his face against Jack’s wide leather-clad back as they went back to his place. It felt like Brock never really went back to his own place, he’d always end up with Jack. 

He must have been too quiet for Rogers’ tastes because he felt a cold slick hand around his soft dick. “You must be tired. You bleed like a virgin.” 

“Contrary to your intel, I don’t do this very often.” 

“If you come for me, I’ll let you sleep. Right here, in this warm soft bed. No one else will touch you until you wake.” That sounded more blissful than Brock would ever admit. Fatigue was numbing his reflexes, fogging his brain.

 “But only if you come for me Commander Brock Rumlow. Come on my dick, pet.” Brock gritted his teeth as his cock responded to the rough strokes. 

Jack. Think about Jack. Think about the hammock in the backyard, swinging in the dappled sunlight. Think about Jack rising out of the lake water, his hair in his face, lit by the setting sun. Think about getting home in one piece. 

It didn’t work. 

Brock ran through his mental spank book. Thought about the Asset trussed up in red hemp ropes, pink and quivering. How his muscles twitched when tapped with a stun baton and the serenade of his screams. How eagerly he lapped at Brock’s cock when his punishment was over and he promised to be better, to be perfect. Promised to be a _good boy._

 “Jesus Christ!” Rogers cursed as Brock came with a choked spasm over his fingers. He snapped his hip wildly into the belt-bruises on Brock’s thighs, Brock screamed in agony and it was just enough to push Rogers past the brink.

He spurted deep within Brock, then painted Brock’s back with semen-coated fingers. “Good boy, such a good boy. Look how good we are together,” he cooed.  

Brock hid his grimace in the pillow, “Fucking birds of a feather we are.”He closed his eyes as Rogers pulled out of him. “I’m not cuddling.”

He heard the sound of Steve Rogers chuckling at his bravado. Whatever. He’d won his small victory. Taking one dick was better than thirty.

He just had to survive this until he saw his opportunity to escape. Order through pain.Order through pain.Order through—He dozed off, bloody semen dripped down his thighs. 

In the middle of the night, Brock awoke to a rapping tap on his shoulder. He was underneath the blankets. Rogers was curled up next to him, his breath minty on Brock’s face. He smiled tightly, with ice in his voice he asked, “Who the fuck is _Jack_?” 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Brock almost blurted out, “My _husband_ ,” but he choked that back. That was too much information and who knew if that was even a thing on this world. So he half mumbled into the pillow, “My ex.” He closed his eyes and pretended to doze. 

Rogers was dressed in his tactical gear. It made him look twice as big. His hair was wet and tousled from a shower. He cupped Brock’s jaw in his fingers and stroked along his stubble. It was a bizarrely intimate gesture for a torturing rapist. “You were calling for him in your sleep. Something about paying the phone bill on time.” He’d changed the tone of his voice, it was soft and reassuring. “You were crying.”

“Yeah? I probably have a concussion,” Brock squinted at Rogers, “I say lots of shit when my brain is scrambled.” 

Rogers put one long leg over Brock’s blanket covered body, pinning him in place. “So why is he your ex?” It was the world’s worst slumber party.

“Are you going to braid my hair now and eat raw cookie dough? Why do you care?” Bluster was his only defense and Rogers brushed an errant strand of hair off Brock’s forehead. 

Featherlight kisses on the bridge of his nose that trailed down to his lips. Rogers was a terrible kisser in both worlds. Kissed like a girl who’d practiced on her pillow. “I care.” His fingers dug into the flesh of Brock’s arm and Brock flinched. 

Brock frantically thought up a story, “He was an agent. He’s dead.” 

Steve smiled at that. “Convenient.” _Fuck._  

“Did he break your heart? Is that why you got this tattoo?” Brock had forgotten about the strange rune on his chest, it was the one thing that didn’t ache on his body, so he nodded. “Did you cry at his funeral?” Another nod, he looked away and tried to duck his head in shame. 

Steve huffed a little sigh and reached for a tablet on the bedside table. He positioned it so that Brock could see it and rested his other hand on Brock’s throat. It was a SHIELD roster. “I just happen to have a list here of all the current active STRIKE personnel who are named Jack.” He flipped through the photographs. “Not your type.” 

“That’s a girl?” He tapped on the screen as Rollins’ photo appeared. Brock willed himself to be still, to not react. 

 “Holding your breath? Pulse speeding up.” Damn those sensitive ears. “Ah. He’s a bit rough, isn’t he? Look at that scar. I suppose that means that you’re not repulsed by my scars. Not that it really matters.” 

 “Status: Active. Current address. Maybe I should pay him a visit?” Rogers pinned Brock to the bed so quickly he blurred in Brock’s vision. 

In Brock’s ear, Steve said sweetly, “Would you like to go with me? You could watch as I cut him open and pull out his beating heart with my bare hand. I’ve done it before. It’s so simple, cracking open a ribcage like a lobster shell. You’re all so fragile.” 

“No.” That wasn’t his Rollins. But it didn’t matter. He couldn’t watch that, he’d go mad. “There’s no need. We’re— ancient history.” 

“Convince me. Tell me you’re over him.” Steve loomed over him, pressing his bound wrists over his head against the headboard. “Tell me!” 

“He means nothing to me!” Brock spat. 

Steve rolled off and folded his hands on his chest. “Then his death won’t matter, will it?” 

Brock was so tired of Rogers’ bullshit. Wearily he said, “Why don’t you just fuck me again and get it over with? Here, I’ll bend over and grab my ankles.” 

“No. I don’t just want your body. Your beautiful broken body.” Brock covered his eyes with his forearm, but he couldn’t plug his ears. “I want you to love me as much as I love you. I’ve wanted you for so long.” _Love_? _Oh shit._

Brock recklessly said, “What about James Buchanan Barnes? Don’t you love him?” 

The name had an effect on Rogers. He went stiff and slowly stood up, stared at the wall. “— How do you know that name?” 

“I told you. I’m a big fan.” Brock paused, swallowed and continued, “When did you _lose_ him?” There was always a Bucky and a Steve, wasn’t there? 

“We were barely men. They picked us up off the street, Stark’s men and… well, if you know about him then you know what they did to us when they created the perfect soldier.” Steve sounded far away, distant. Then he shrugged and the icy sadistic veneer returned. “I survived. Bucky did not. Fuck him for being weak.”

Brock’s stomach lurched at Rogers’ nonchalance. “Will you ever forget him?” 

“Sadly, no. But I will reforge the world in his name.” He clenched his fist. “It is my destiny.”

“I’ll never forget Jack either.” 

Laughter, “See, that’s where you’re wrong.” He sat down on the bed, the mattress bounced. He tapped Brock on the nose. “I can make you forget anything I want. I have a _magic chair._ ” No. No. NO! Not the old memory masher! Brock was not going to be wiped, he wasn’t! 

Steve grabbed Brock by his harness and dragged him out of the bed. “It’s simpler this way. Can’t argue with the classics, now can you?” 

He opened the door and Brock clawed at his armored arms. Brock kicked and thrashed, screaming until his throat burned, “No!” 

No one jeered at him in the hallway. They stared and the only sounds were his screams. They reached the White Room and Steve tossed Brock at the foot of the chair. “Oh stop struggling. You know you’re no match for me.” 

“Fuck you!” 

Steve pulled out a knife. “And you also know how much I love watching you bleed.” He pressed the tip of the blade against the back of Brock’s hand, between the corded tendons. “Get in the chair Brock.” 

The knife pierced Brock’s hand and he howled, “Fuck you!” 

“Get in the chair Brock.”

“No!” Rogers pulled out the knife and placed it on the opposite hand. 

“Get in the chair Brock.” 

“I’d rather die!” Brock grimaced and Steve pressed down again. Pain screamed through his body and Brock felt light-headed, the airy disassociation of shock setting in. Steve ripped out the blade and set it to Brock’s throat. 

“I don’t share my toys. I’ll ask one last time. Get in the chair Bro—“ The tattoo on Brock’s chest was _glowing._ Rogers looked confused. “What?”

There was an explosion. An alarm. Steve stood up and glared. “Stay there.” He commanded and took off to investigate. 

Brock curled up in a bloody ball on the floor, clutched his stabbed hands to his glowing chest and shook violently in pain and shock. He’d never been a religious man, didn’t believe in Heaven or Hell, but he certainly never thought an angel would look like—“Murphy?” He blinked, “Murphy?” 

“Commander!” The dark-haired found man yelled into his radio. “I’ve found him! Trace my location, we need med evac stat!” He worked to field dress Brock’s hands, quickly and efficiently. 

“Murphy?” Brock whispered. “I’m a gonna treat you to a steak dinner.” 

“Meat is murder, Commander.” He stabbed Brock with a syringe of pain medication and helped Brock to his wobbly feet. 

It might have been the morphine, but finally, something in this fucked up world made sense. Murphy patted his shoulder as Brock cried into his neck in relief. It was the morphine. It had to be. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

Brock’s thoughts were fuzzy from the drugs. He could hear the soft beep of the monitors and smell the antiseptic on air. A hospital. God he hated hospitals. Hospitals meant that someone had fucked up. And he was restrained. Must have bitten someone again. 

But anywhere was better than being in Steve Rogers’ clutches. The HYDRA of this world was seriously fubar. Any organization that allowed that _monster_ to run unchecked was a threat to the order and stability that Brock had dedicated his life to. His HYDRA was pure and righteous. This world’s version was a warped abomination. 

He cracked an eyelid and his visitors slowly came into focus. Murphy, reading something on his phone. Brock owed the little bastard his life. 

 _Jack._ He wore a beard and his dark hair was clipped short instead of slicked back. He looked good. _Real good_. Good enough to make a grown man cry. God, he was turning into such a weepy shit. 

Must be that other Rumlow’s fault. Everything else in this place was. He was expecting to wake up looking into his own face. He had planned to punch it into the pavement. 

“Jack?” His voice cracked and he reached out his hand, notfully convinced that he wasn’t hallucinating on the sweet, sweet drugs. 

“I’m here.” Jack stood up and took his hand. Brock clutched it to his chest and took several deep, shuddery breaths of relief. He touched the gun callouses and kissed them. 

Jack looked over at Murphy. With withering sarcasm, “ _This_ isn’t weird, at all.” He scrunched his face up in distaste, “You don’t even like me, sir.” 

“Seems like he likes you just fine on morphine. Call it a team building exercise.” Murphy didn’t even look up from his phone. “He was calling for you in his sleep. Figured you should be here.” 

Jack tried to pull his hand back from Brock’s grasp, but Brock curled around it and drew him in closer. “I missed you so much.” He whispered with his dry, cracked lips. The confusion on Jack’s face hurt worse than any of his wounds. “I like the beard.”

“Maybe we should take him to see the Asgardian.” Jack ventured, still trying to extricate his hand from Brock’s clutches. 

“Until we figure out what her motives are we’re not putting the Commander within twenty miles of her.” Murphy set his phone down.

“Since when do you give the orders, kid?” Brock muttered, finally letting Jack have his hand back.

 Jack wiped it on his pants and Brock narrowed his eyes. “Murphy is your second in command, sir.” 

“Of course he is.” Brock rolled over and tried to smother himself with the flat pillow. “Of course he is.” 

 Murphy was staring at him. Brock could feel his eyes on his back. “Why don’t you go get us some coffee, Jack.” It was a clear dismissal and Jack sighed in resignation.

“Soy chai latte with three pumps of vanilla, right?” 

“Right. Nothing for the Commander, he’s on hospital rations. I’ll get him some strawberry Jello.” Brock made a gagging noise. He hated strawberry. Jack left the room and after a few moments, Brock rolled back towards Murphy.

 “Why are you looking at me like that? Did I grow a second head?” A little alarm bell went off in the back of his drug-addled brain. 

“I’ve never seen a clone before.” Crap. 

“Not a clone.” Brock sighed. “Not a robot. Not one of your shitty science fiction characters. I’m just a man.” He looked at his bandaged hands. 

“You came through the portal with the Asgardian. Didn’t you?” 

Brock smiled tightly, “Maybe. This sure isn’t my world.” 

“Fascinating. Is your world much like ours?” 

“There are a few differences. You’re still a weirdo.” 

Murphy shrugged and glanced towards the door. “I take it that you and Jack are more than just teammates back there.” 

“You could say that. We’re married. Got an anniversary coming up and fuck if I know what to get a man who has the entire inventory of the tool section at the hardware store.” 

“Fascinating. And what do you know about the man who abducted you?” 

Brock shut his eyes and tried not to think about the gleam of Rogers’ white teeth in the dark. “Captain HYDRA.” He shifted his weight, his ass didn’t feel completely destroyed. God bless modern pharmaceuticals. “He’s dangerous. A maniac. A rabid animal that needs to be put down.” 

“I’d assume so. It was the Commander’s life goal to capture him and make him pay for his atrocities.” So it was a mutual love/hate thing? Made sense in a twisted way. 

Brock carefully asked, wetting his lips with his tongue. “So. Where is the other _me_? I’d like to personally thank him for all of _this._ ” Drag him back home and give him to the Winter Soldier as a pet. 

“I’d assume that he is dead.” Murphy scratched his head. 

Brock almost sat up, but the restraints kept him in place. “Details kid. Don’t leave any of them out.” 

“The Asgardian woman, Mara, dropped out of the sky. She saw Commander Rumlow and blasted him with some sort of— “ He gestured with his hands and made a childish explosion sound. 

“Just call it magic. It’s easier.” 

“Alright. Magic then. And he was _gone_. We found a piece of an ear fifteen feet away. She looked… really disappointed. Like something had gone wrong. After extensive interrogation, she said that she’d teleported you— him elsewhere and gave us a tracking _spell_. That’s how we found you.” Murphy leaned forward, his chin on his hands. “She’s very invested in finding you.”

“I’m Mr. Popular here.” Brock hissed in pain as he discovered a new contusion, “The fucking party favor.” 

 “What do I do in your world?” 

“You’re a codebreaker. The best in the biz. I don’t even know what goes on in your vegan head.” Murphy nodded. “And you, I don’t know, you foster stray kittens and puppies and go to protests about saving the whales and you make these shitty cookies with raisins and fake chocolate and nobody wants you as their Secret Santa—“ 

Brock swallowed hard, stared at the stained tiles in the ceiling, “Why does Jack hate me— other Rumlow?” 

“Several negative performance reviews will foster animosity. And there was the incident in Beriut.” He grinned,“I take care of stray animals? Really?” He rubbed his hands on his thighs. “That’s wonderful. I should contact the local shelter, it seems like such a rewarding way to give back—“ 

Brock snapped his fingers. “Focus kid. Focus.” 

“Of course. Now the question is, how do we get you home?” 

Jack appeared with two paper coffee cups. “One ridiculously sweet chai latte, sir. Like liquid diabetes.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust. He looked younger, less beaten down by the weight of responsibility and duplicity. Brock stared at him, he was so damn beautiful. He wanted to drag him down into his hospital bed and anoint every inch of his form with kisses. He wanted to lay on that barrel chest and listen to his heartbeat. 

Jack blinked under his scrutiny. “Do I have something on my face, sir?”

Murphy tittered. “Perhaps the question should be do you _want_ to go home?” He took a sip of his drink. 

A man rushed into the room with a cell phone, he handed it to Brock and saluted. “High priority call. Code Delta Bravo Three.” Well that made absolutely no sense, but Brock nodded and held the phone up to his ear as the underling left.

“Yes?” 

“It’s so good to hear your voice, son.” Brock started shivering as Rogers’ smooth even tone crooned in his ear, “I just wanted to make sure that they’re taking good care of you. Patching you up and making you all pretty for me.” 

He sighed, “I know we parted on— unpleasant terms but I want you to know that I truly care for you Brock. I will tear the world down around us if that’s what it takes. And we’re going to make this work. We’re meant to be.” Murphy and Jack stared as Brock went white as the hospital sheets. 

 “And tell Jack, _I really like his red leather couch_.” 

The dial tone in his ear. The cell phone slipped through his numb fingers. He pointed at Jack.“You cannot go home. We have to find a safe house, one that’s off the grid because HYDRA knows everything SHIELD does. You’re infected with it. Trust me on this. He showed me a SHIELD roster after he— after he expressed to me the depths of his affection.” 

“What? Why?” Jack sputtered.

“Because Captain HYDRA is going to kill you or worse.”  

“I’m a nobody.” The protest was quiet and honest. 

Brock shook his head, “Not to me, you aren’t. And this time, I doubt he’s doing to stop just at a cheerful asshole reaming and a few decorative puncture wounds.” 

Jack shook his head in denial.

“Look at me.” Jack looked at the floor. “LOOK.” Reluctantly, Jack held his gaze and Brock held up his wounded hands as far as the restraints would let him. “This is what he does to someone he claims to love. And he thinks that you stand in his way. Go home and you’re a dead man, Jack Rollins.” 

 “You don’t even _like_ me.” Jack repeated, as if that would fix things. 

“Actually, he _really_ likes you. Well, he likes your other world counterpart.” Murphy smiled at the whole mess. “Jack, let me introduce you to Brock Rumlow, the Sequel.” 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Brock was passed out for most of the trip to the safe house. They'd already left the city. Endless miles of trees lined the twisted road. The combination of pain medication and at least twenty fuzzy blankets in Murphy’s car worked very well to lull him to sleep. You learned to grab forty winks wherever you could on missions and Brock was an expert at cat naps. 

Rollins glanced down at him. He’d been drooling on Rollins’ shoulder in the back seat for most of the trip. “Have a nice nap?” 

Brock nodded and nuzzled against Rollins’ shoulder. “Good pillow. Thick.” Rollins looked straight ahead and a slow red flush crept up his neck. “Have questions.” 

This felt disturbingly _right._ If he was going to have to be cooped up in a safe house than he could do worse than a charmingly naive and really _hot_ version of his husband. It wasn’t cheating if you fucked their multiverse duplicate, right? He smiled in a way that made Rollins blush even harder.

“Um, um okay. Shoot.” It was cute when he stammered. 

“My team. Mercer. Anders. Westfahl. Blackwell. Who are they in this world?” He couldn’t trust anyone that wasn’t HYDRA in his world. Everyone seemed to be topsy-turvy in their loyalties. 

“Well, I don’t know an Anders or a Blackwell. Westfahl? Is that the dude that works in the cafeteria? He has that creepy thin mustache?” Rollins shrugged. “Sorry, I don’t know much more about that.” 

Murphy chimed in with, “Are you referring to Mrs. Mercer-Murphy?” 

“You married Mercer? You’re fucking serious?” Mercer and Murphy sitting in a tree… Now the impulse to sing that childish song was definitely the drugs. "You're kidding me!" 

“We’re separated right now. She wants to find herself. And I think it’s healthy for a relationship to have time and space to really make a couple focus on what’s important, don’t you? That's what the counselor says.” 

Rumlow paused and then said with a great deal of bitterness. “No. It really fucking sucks, actually.” Rollins patted his hand, a quick tap. _Interesting._

“Oh. Sorry.” Murphy paused, “I forgot. Callous of me.” 

“It’s fine. Kinda forgot to write in the Asgardian witch clause in our wedding vows. Can’t believe the last thing I said to him was about putting batteries in the remote control.” It didn’t feel real. Rollins’ thigh under his fingertips felt real. He shamelessly used the momentum of the curve in the road to slide his hand over and back, provoking an even deeper blush. “So where are we going?”

Rollins said with a catch in his voice, “My great uncle has a cabin.” 

Brock groaned, “Oh shit. Not the cabin out west of here with the partial roof and the family of fucking raccoons under the porch?” It had taken years to fix that rat trap up to code. There wasn't any running water and the outhouse was made out of splinters and hope.

“We fixed it up last summer, even added insulation. Uncle is a bit of a doomsday prepper. All the canned food we could ever want. It’s all up to code. I’m good with my hands.” Rollins squirmed in his seat. 

“Oh I know you are, Big Guy.” Brock leered and touched his flushed pink ear lobe. “Very. Very good. Are you married? Please tell me you're not married.” 

“I'm not even seeing anyone. Why are you asking? How do you— ?” Rollins asked in bewilderment, he was obviously unused to anyone giving him any type of attention. And Commander Brock Rumlow was the last person in this world who would be hitting on him. What a fucking waste. All this muscled, bearded goodness. “How is this— ?” 

Brock deliberately misunderstood. “Every summer for the last five years. As soon as my hands work right, as soon as I can hold a fishing rod, I’ll show you where the best spot is for catching trout. I’m really good with my hands too.” He smiled with his neat white teeth. " _Babe_."

“I’m not your Rollins. Remember?” He pushed Brock’s hand off his leg. “You are all hands. You know that?” 

“Sorry. It’s the medication.” Brock fluttered his lashes and rubbed his face against Rollins’ shoulder. “You both smell the same. All manly man. Like a cedar closet and free weights. Thank you for being here for me. It really means a lot.” The poor lad didn't know what to do with himself, like praise was an alien concept. "There's no one I'd rather have on my six. In any world." 

"Looks like I've been demoted," Murphy coughed, “Maybe I should turn on the radio. Everyone likes show tunes!” 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

The medication was wearing off and sharp spikes of pain stabbed through his hands. Pain was something he could deal with, he wasn’t looking forward to the itching. Damn stitches. 

But the thing that was really chafing his ass was the incessant singing. “So. You guys really like show tunes.” Like that wasn’t the fruitiest thing on planet Earth.

Rollins stopped singing, his voice was a rolling baritone and would be very nice to listen to if he was moaning Rumlow’s name. Something fun like that. “Of course? The whole team sings together at the holiday party. You— I mean the Commander, he could really hit the high notes.” 

Brock squinted and huffed, “I bet he could.” Probably a great soprano with my foot up his ass. He was so pissed that the Asgardian had killed other Rumlow before he could kick that asshole square in his perfect teeth.

“We’re almost there.” Murphy said and turned off the radio. 

“Good. I need a handful of Percocet and about a week of sleep. Please tell me this cabin has a bed with a mattress and you don’t snore.” 

Rollins raised an eyebrow. “I’m not bunking with you.” 

Rumlow shrugged. “I’m not bunking with Murphy.” He crossed his arms petulantly.

“I’m not bunking with either of you,” Murphy continued as if Brock wasn’t acting like a child, “I’m heading back to civilization and having a talk with our resident witch. We have to find a way to get you home. Unless you want to step into the Commander’s very shiny shoes.” 

“Legendary shiny shoes.” Rollins grumbled. 

Brock’s body ached and he’d been cramped in the backseat for too long. “Why does everyone talk about that guy like his shit didn’t stink?” 

“Because he thought it didn’t?” Rollins picked at the scar on his chin. “The perfect soldier. Flawless. Everyone _loved_ Brock Rumlow.”

“ _Rollins._ ” Murphy said, a gentle warning. “We’re here.”

Brock’s mouth fell open. “That’s not a cabin.” He was having flashbacks to the trailer park. And not the fancy trailer park with the lawn gnomes and decorative flamingos. “That’s a fucking single-wide.” It looked like tornado bait. 

Murphy smiled and parked the car. “That’s the safe house. Unless you want to go back and take your chances with Captain HYDRA.” 

Brock was silent for a few moments. Rollins jostled him with an elbow. “I’m thinking about it okay!?” 

 

“So everything is unloaded. You have food, munitions and the 1972 Encyclopedia Britannica. Don’t use the sat phone unless you’re compromised. I’ll be back in a week with a restock and some entertainment.” 

Brock glared at Murphy from the plastic covered couch. It squeaked under his butt. Murphy cheerfully waved at him and whistled on his way back to the car. Brock knew the tune from the car sing-along session. _Goddamnit Murphy_. 

He managed to take a piss without any major failure. The chemical toilet was better than an outhouse. 

He sat down on his bed and gave it an experimental bounce. “At least the bed is nice.” 

“You’re welcome.” Rollins leaned against the doorframe. He was certainly easy on the eyes. “Why is Captain HYDRA after us again?” He handed Brock his pills and a bottle of water. 

Brock tossed back the capsules and took a swig of water. “Because I’m the spitting image of your deceased Commander and he’s got a big old boner about it.” He held his hands apart and Rollins blinked. “Trust me. It’s fucking huge and I never want to see it, taste it or feel it up my ass again.” 

He curled up on the bed in the middle of Murphy’s fluffy blankets. “And I talk in my sleep. Which is why I don’t fuck around or stay the night.” It was a stupid weakness, but what could he do about it other than avoid the situation?

“You swear a lot.” Rollins ran his finger over the scar on his chin. Brock remembered licking that scar two weeks ago, the stubble rough under his tongue. 

“That’s the goddamned motherfucking truth.” He drained the bottle and handed it back to Rollins, making sure their fingers touched.  

“The Commander would give us demerits if we swore.”

“So you’d do what? Push ups? Run an extra mile or two?” 

“If he liked you.” Rollins sat down on the bed. _Interesting._

“So I take it you weren’t his favorite.” Brock kept his tone light and casual. The lad was positively bursting to confess something juicy and all Brock had to do was be patient. 

A great sigh. “No.” 

“You’d have to be aces at something to make STRIKE. What’s your speciality? On my world, Jack Rollins was in Demolitions. Build it, he’d blow it up. Bit of a wizard with a fuse and some plastique.” It was a pleasure to watch Jack make a bomb, the corners of his eyes crinkled in delight when an explosion went just right. 

“I was the team sniper.” 

“Was?” A gentle prompt.

“The Commander replaced me. With someone better than I could ever be. Legendary.” 

Brock sighed and laid back on the bed. “Let me guess. Brunette. Blue eyes. Some sort of cyborg part. An arm or a leg? Tell me if I’m getting close.” So Barnes hadn’t died and Rogers didn’t know. That was a recipe for disaster right there.  

“How?” Rollins leaned close and his eyes were wide with shock. “That’s top secret. No one knows about him. The Summer Soldier.” 

Brock grimaced. “That’s a terrible code name. We call him the Asset or the Winter Soldier. So he’s working for SHIELD over here.” Wonder if he was still as tight in this world. “I’ve worked with him _intimately_ in the past.” 

“The Commander— he said that wanted to save the Soldier. Rehabilitate him from what HYDRA did when they created him. But nothing took. The Soldier kept breaking down on missions, crying for long dead people and finally, they brought in Project Blank Slate. And I fucked up.” 

“How?” Rollins was silent and Brock touched his shoulder with a bandaged hand. “You can tell me. I understand a lot about fuck ups.” 

“I lodged a formal complaint with Director Pierce. I didn’t join up with SHIELD to do the same things that HYDRA does. It wasn’t right. It just wasn’t right.” Rollins twisted a blanket corner in his big hands.

 “I could look past the pet names, all the touching and stuff. But I caught him, I caught him with the Soldier and he couldn’t agree to that, his mind wasn’t all there. It just wasn’t _right_.” 

Brock nodded, maybe he wasn’t so different from his twin as he thought. The Asset was so fucking irresistible. More unstable in this world. Brock would have never tolerated such weakness, would have broken it right out of him. Hell, he had. Over and over again. 

“Director Pierce agreed with me and they removed the Soldier from the Commander’s company. It was supposed to be confidential. I was supposed to be safe from reprisals.” 

“What happened?” Brock could guess. 

“I got jumped. Right outside my parents’ place. Forty-five stitches. No witnesses.” Rollins pointed at the scar on his chin. “I’m not the brightest bulb in the box, but even I got that message. So I’ve kept my head down and my mouth shut.”

“Sounds like a real bastard.” _Rollins, you stupid soft-hearted pussy._

“He was a hero. I— I’m not.” He looked at Rumlow for understanding and compassion. “Would you have done the same thing?”

“No. I’d never betray a member of my team that way.” It was the truth. He’d have slit his throat and buried his body in the woods. 

“If I was pissed at you, I’d look you in the eyes while I punched you. And you’d get a chance to fight back.” Brock patted Rollins on the leg. “People talk about honor, but they don’t understand it.” 

“Sometimes we do things that don’t seem right, but when you look back… with time and distance, you can see that there’s was no choice. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, but they were always for the greater good. You’ve got balls. Big brass ones.” Brock thought about running his tongue over them. 

Rollins smiled as if he’d been waiting for years to confess to an appreciative audience. “He wrote a cookbook. For charity.” 

“That’s hilarious.” Brock laughed, “I fuck up grilled cheese.” Rollins blushed. “It really bothers you when I curse, doesn’t it?”

“Old habits. I only heard the Commander curse once. And I got forty-five stitches later that night.” 

“Well, I’m not the fucking Commander. And I’d do anything to make you understand that.” He took Rollins’ hands in his. “But first, I need your help to put on the stupid plastic bags on my hands so I can take a shower. Because I’m a grown man who need plastic mittens.” He smiled disarmingly and Rollins returned his smile. 

“Shower’s broken. I’ll heat some water on the stove for a sponge bath.” 

Brock groaned, “If you’re teasing me, I’ll break you in half with my toes.” They laughed together for a moment. 

Rollins said quietly, his large hands still on Brock’s bandaged ones, “You know, what the worst part was?” He shook his head as if he was ashamed of himself. 

“He was my _hero_ too.” 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Rollins was on the mottled mustard yellow velvet couch. Brock was staring at the equally stained ceiling over the bed. He’d slept too much, even with the narcotics, and his mind was racing. His Rollins would have rolled over and given him a quick hand job to turn his brain off, but Brock doubted that he could ask this Rollins for that favor. _Yet_.

He looked at his hands. They’d have to change the bandages tomorrow. Things were looking grimy. 

He kept thinking about how Rogers had dragged him into the White Room and how he had been mere moments away from giving up. Seconds away from sitting in the mind masher. From being a fucking doll. 

The blank eyes of the Asset appeared in his thoughts and Brock shuddered. That could have been him. And if he didn’t figure something out, that _would_ be him. Rogers had the raw determination and sheer power to pull that off. He knew what obsession looked like and it had told Brock that it loved him.

It had taken about nine hours to get here. And if no one had followed them, that meant that Murphy would take at least that long to get back to base. And like the good little competent soldier he was here, he’d go straight to the Director and explain what was going on. That gave about 24 hours before someone leaked that information. Probably eight more before they narrowed down all of their family contacts and their property holdings. That’s what he would have done. 

Rogers would make him his pet. But first, he’d torture and murder Rollins, probably make Brock help with the process and clean up. That thought made his stomach lurch violently. 

Rollins quietly slept, still unaware that Brock had condemned him to an early and messy demise. Even if Brock got home, Rollins would still be here with the vengeful, thwarted Captain. 

He could take Rollins back with him. He gritted his teeth at his indulgent stupidity.

 They could live together and be happy? Until this— unbelievably idealistic and fucking sweet version discovered their true loyalties and betrayed everything that Brock had worked so hard for. 

No. That wouldn’t work either. As much fun as it would be to be the filling in a Rollins sandwich, it wasn’t possible. He’d never understand the purity of Brock’s mission, the righteousness he fought for.  

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and grabbed a flashlight. He turned it on and grabbed a volume of the ancient encyclopedia. Volume P. 

He got back into bed and sat back against the wall. He flipped through the random facts to put his mind to work on something other than their inevitable capture and defeat. 

 _Presidency._ Brock held the flashlight in his teeth. Now that was interesting. Everything that Brock remembered was reversed. The winners were the losers. Huh. 

Nothing was that cut and dry though. Otherwise he’d be a villain compared to the Commander’s hero. And that certainly wasn’t the case. Brock sighed. This was such a fucking weird world.

The squeak of the boxspring roused Rollins, he sat up slowly and stretched his long arms. “Can’t sleep?” Rollins asked, grimacing at the way his joints cracked and popped. He was wearing a white sleeveless undershirt and his muscles rippled with each movement. Brock’s flashlight caught him in the eyes and he flinched. 

“Sorry. Slept enough for two lifetimes.” He set the musty book aside. “Insomnia and I are old friends. It seems like I need to be traveling or under fire to grab forty winks these days.” 

“Thinking about your husband?” Rollins asked, his voice carefully nonchalant. Brock bit the inside of his lip to keep from grinning.

“A little.” 

Rollins touched his scar. “It must be weird. Seeing my face.” He ran his hand over his beard, Brock yearned to feel it under his own fingertips. 

“You might share his face and that rockin’ bod, but that’s about it.” 

He looked down at the floor, a kicked puppy. “So he’s smart.” Rollins stood up and turned away. “I get it.”

“Unless you’re a fucking mind-reader, I doubt it. He’s ruthless and a little bit cruel. Doesn’t let me get away with shit. A real alpha type. You get used to it after a while, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t grate on my nerves.” He probably wouldn’t give the Asset so much of his attention if Jack wasn’t such an utter bastard at times. 

“You probably think I’m a real pushover.” _A cream puff._

Brock shook his head, “I respect that you stand up for what you believe in.” The way Rollins’ face lit up at that faint praise made Brock’s dick swell, even with the opiates. “If more men did that, we’d live in a better world.” He was beaming like an angel, it was too easy. “That’s all I want.” That was the truth. It was. 

“A better world.” Rollins repeated and took a few steps closer to the bed. “That’s the goal, isn’t it?” Brock patted the bed and Rollins sat beside him. They listened to the chirp of crickets in the darkness.

After a few moments, Brock said, “Can I ask you a personal question?” 

“Shoot.” The flashlight cast harsh shadows on his face, beautifully familiar and exotic in the darkness. Brock didn’t have to fake his desire, he licked his lips.

“Did you have a relationship with the Commander?” If there was always a Bucky and a Steve, then why wouldn’t there be a Brock and a Jack too? 

“Fraternization? No.” Jack shook his head and sighed.

“But there was something there. Wasn’t there?” Brock pushed, his voice soft and compelling.

“You—“ Jack stammered, “You, I mean, he was a very good looking man.” He looked at his hands. “Magnetic. Intense. Half the country was in love with him and the other half just wouldn’t admit it.” 

“Good cheekbones?” Brock tapped his own bruised face. 

“Yeah.” Jack gave him half a smile. “Could cut glass with those.” 

Brock shrugged, “Can’t say I’m impressed. He didn’t know who he had under his command. He should have used your strengths. Your conviction. Your compassion.” He was close enough to smell the sweat on Jack’s neck, close enough to see the pulse leap in his throat. He pressed his lips, soft as a moth’s wings, against Jack’s skin. 

Jack leapt up from the bed, practically clutching his proverbial pearls.“I should make something to eat.” 

Brock pulled a knee to his chest and wrapped his arm around his leg. “When I say that I respect you, I mean it. You’re a good man.” Another bit of praise that Jack obviously wasn’t used to receiving. “It’s not your fault that the Commander had the world fooled.” _We’re damned good actors._

“You know, Brock, not even my parents believed that I did the right thing—“ He used his first name. _Fantastic._

“Fools. Blinded by propaganda and the cult of personality.” Brock looked at the ceiling and sighed. “You know, I bet Old Commander Rumlow and Captain Psychopants would have been really happy together. Birds of a fucking feather.” 

Jack opened his mouth and shut it before continuing, “I don’t think you’re anything like the Commander.” He rubbed at the skin on his neck where Brock had kissed him. “Never really had the chance for any kind of a relationship. _Ever._ ” 

A virgin Rollins? Oh sweet baby Jesus, it almost made Brock believe in a God. He almost got down on his knees and shouted _Hallelujah_!

“I’ll change your bandages. I wish we could have found you before you had to go through all of that.” Jack looked suddenly fierce and familiar. “I swear. I’ll never let Captain HYDRA hurt you again. I’m sorry.”  

“Thanks.” He couldn’t hold Jack’s gaze without something hurting in his chest. _I’m sorry too. I’m sorry that I’ve destroyed your life._ “For everything.” 

 

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

 Brock sipped his soup. Vegetable beef. The soft cubes of salty carrots and potatoes melted on his tongue. “You know, I’m not a plague victim. You don’t have to feed me sick food.” He made a face and drained the cup. “More, please.” 

Rollins buzzed his lips in frustration. “The firewood got wet. Only have the one gas burner until we get resupplied.” He turned off the flame and poured the rest of the soup into Brock’s mug. “So bon appetit.”

“My last meal is going to be canned.” He raised his mug to Rollins who leaned against the stove with his arms crossed. “Tastes better than an MRE, I suppose. Cheers.” 

“What do you mean, ‘your last meal’?” Rollins asked.

Brock burned the tip of his tongue on the soup. “Fuck!” Heblew on the soup and felt the beginning of a blister on his tongue. “We’re pretty much going to die up here.” They were running out of time and Brock wasn’t going to go without a fuck and a fight. In that order, preferably. 

“We’re safe.” Rollins looked worried. He should be.

Brock set his soup on the table. “Until HYDRA finds out our location. Trust me, Captain Crazy is probably threatening all his men with dismemberment if they don’t find us.” He smiled. “Now that’s _motivation_.”

Rollins raised an eyebrow at his smile. Brock shrugged. “Or they could just find Murphy and torture him.” That’s what he’d do. Cover all the bases and eliminate the evidence. 

Rollins stubbornly shook his head. “He wouldn’t give us up. Not Murphy.”

“You’d be surprised what a person will do to make the pain stop. Cartwheels, even.” He laughed at the memory of the Asset tumbling down a hallway to get away from a stun baton. “And the Russian judge gave him a 5.3 because he didn’t stick the dismount.” 

“So were you the torturer or the victim?” Rollins said quietly and Brock realized that he’d overplayed his part. So hesilently held up his bandaged hands and stared into Jack’s eyes, looking hurt.

Jack looked away, ashamed, “Sorry. I didn’t think.” 

Brock smiled again, all was forgiven. “I’ve got a bit of a dry sense of humor. Little bit morbid. Wasn’t expecting to live this long. Dangerous line of work.” 

He took a sip of his soup and asked, “Speaking of dangerous. Do you have any, oh I don’t know, metahumans? Aliens? Huge green freaks of nature in this world?” 

“SHIELD has a containment program. They’re locked away from the rest of the public. For everyone’s safety.”

“Good idea.” Damn good idea. He finished his soup and rinsed his mouth with a swig from his water bottle. Casually he asked, as if inquiring about the weather, “Do you have, oh I don’t know, a girlfriend?”

Rollins hesitated before answering. “Why?” 

“Humor me. Good soup. Compliments to the chef.” 

“No. I do not have a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. Not since like high school. I told you, I didn’t have time for that. It wouldn’t be fair to them. I’m away on missions constantly and I never know if I’m coming home in one piece or not. I’d never do that to someone I cared for.”

“You’re a very honorable man.” Little praises, so easily given and devoured. “So you have to care for someone to fuck them?” Brock put his mug in the wash bucket, stood next to Rollins. 

“Well, it really _helps_ , doesn’t it? You have to be attracted to them at least.” Rollins rubbed his hand on his arm, looked at his shoes and the cracked linoleum. “You’re supposed to wait until marriage.” 

“Nice. Good thing we’re already sorta hitched. Are you attracted to me?” 

“I— I— I guess?” He swallowed and Brock watched his throat rise and fall. He longed to suck a purpling bruise into the pale flesh. Feel the vibrations of Jack’ moans under his lips.

“Oh good, because I can’t take my eyes off you. Look at you. You’re massive. So _thick_. And you’re goddamned good-looking too.” 

Rollins squirmed under the barrage of compliments, his eyes crinkled at the corners. “I don’t really know anything about you other than you’re a double of the Commander.” His brow furrowed. “And every time I look at you, I think about _him_.” 

“Ah. I understand.” Brock smiled with infinite patience. It was a look he’d practiced in the mirror. 

“You do?” 

Brock nodded. “Yeah. You better close your eyes then.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I’m going to kiss you.” Rollins closed his eyes and Brock pulled him down, his hands cupping the side of his face. Brock kissed Jack soft and sweet. Kissed him like a good boy deserved to be kissed and this Rollins was such a damned good boy. It felt like he had a chance to start over, to fix the mistakes that he’d made. Rollins leaned into him, pressed his body against Brock’s and as they parted, he sighed wistfully. 

“There.” Brock whispered. “That wasn’t your first kiss, was it?”

 Rollins looked indignant, but he didn’t move away. “What!? No! Of course not! I’ve kissed lots of people.”

Brock teased, “Spin the bottle doesn’t count.” 

“Fuck you.” Rollins growled deep in his throat and the profanity was curiously shocking. He seized Brock and kissed him again with a desperate, needy urgency that made Brock harden. “There. Happy now?”  

“Getting there.” Brock pulled Jack over to the bed. There was no way his naked skin was touching that abomination of a couch. “We should explore all the variables.” He tried to pull off his shirt and fumbled with his bandaged hands, until Jack knelt on the floor before him. 

Jack put his hand up under Brock’s shirt, explored the hard muscles and scars with curious deft fingers, then pulled it up over Brock’s head. “Thanks for the assist.” 

“I got your six.” Jack stared at his torso like a starving man. He touched the rune engraved in Brock’s flesh. It was about as long and thick as his thumb. Brock let him touch as much as he wanted to, it had been ages since his body had been properly worshipped. 

Jack gathered his courage and let his hand drop to the tent in Brock’s sweatpants. He cupped the thick mound in his palm and Brock groaned in response. 

“You’re such a good boy.” Brock pithily praised Jack, “So beautiful. So loyal and kind. Yes, just like that. Make me feel good sweetheart.” He raised his hips and Jack slid the fabric away, leaving him bare beneath Jack’s hungry gaze. 

“You like?” Brock gestured at his body. It was a patchwork of bruises, brilliant greens and purples mottled his skin. The belt welts on his legs had deflated but were unmistakable. 

Jack traced them with his hands and with sorrow in his voice said, “I won’t let him hurt you again. I swear it.” Brock let his head fall back so he could blink away the mist in his eyes. What a fucking loser he was becoming. All sappiness. 

His thighs clenched as the warm wetness of Jack’s mouth covered his cock. Brock looked up and the sight of a red-faced Jack sloppily lapping at his cock was just as thrilling as the act itself. His beard scraped delightfully on Brock’s tender skin. 

“That’s it. You’re so good.” He wanted to pull at that soft brown hair, wanted to tug on it and force himself deep into the back of Jack’s throat. Wanted to fuck his mouth until he gagged. But he didn’t, because this was sweet Jack Rollins, not the Asset. And Jack deserved better for his first time than a brutal gang bang in a warehouse. Not that that didn’t have its own charms.

He wound his fingers in the bed sheets. “You’re gonna make me come if you keep doing that.” 

Jack pulled his lips away, a thin streamer of saliva trailed from his mouth to the tip of Brock’s cock. “I thought that was the point.”

“Get naked.” Brock ordered. “And get in this bed.” 

Jack obeyed, pliant as the Asset on a good day. He stripped off his clothing and Brock drank in the sight. Rippling muscles, new scars that someday he’d know the stories about and a thick proud cock that rose from his thatch of pubic curls. Brock made a strangled moan at the beauty of Jack’s body. Jack bashfully looked away and tried to cover himself. 

Brock grabbed his wrist. “None of that. You’re amazing.” And he pulled Jack onto the bed. “Close your eyes.” 

Jack’s eyes were closed, but his mouth was open and muttering a string of profanity as Brock used every trick he’d learned about sucking dick. “Jesus fucking Christ. Fuck fuck ooooh fuuuck. Yes please, please, oh God. Yes!” His hips bucked up and Brock let him fuck his throat. 

Brock felt Jack tremble and sucked harder as Jack spurted. He swallowed down Jack’s semen and held him in his mouth until he softened. Jack’s eyes were soft and glassy as he tried to make sense out of what had just happened. Brock patted him on the hip and said, “Turn over, on your side.” 

He spat into his hand and slicked himself as best he could, it wouldn’t take long. He was too hard and horny to last any longer than the former virgin had. Oral sex counted, Brock thought. 

He thrust his cock between Jack’s muscular thighs, rutted away with powerful strokes, while cooing praise into Jack’s ear. “Such a good lad. Look at how hard you make me. You taste so sweet.” His stomach slapped against Jack and Brock wished that he was balls deep inside that pristine tight ass. Maybe there was some cooking oil— The thought of Jack with his legs up in the air with Brock’s dick buried deep was too much. Brock came with a moan between Jack’s thighs, his semen painted the base of Jack’s scrotum and taint. 

Brock’s head swam with exertion and bliss. He rolled Jack onto his back and curled up, his head on Jack’s chest listening to Jack’s heartbeat. Jack held him close and it felt so good. So right. So pure and destined.

 _This was not cuddling._ _He was not a cuddler._

He was a good liar, even to himself.

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

Brock dug in the duffel bag of weapons. He picked up a knife, tested the grip with his bandages and slipped it under his pillow. _Old habits kept you from dying hard._ Jackie was singing a show tune in the kitchen as he heated water from the creek to clean up. Brock shook his head. 

 _Jackie_. He liked the way that name rolled off his tongue. Liked the way Rollins shivered as Brock suckled on his earlobe, the cleft of his collarbone and his hard dusky pink nipples. Liked the way he bruised and moaned as Brock scraped his teeth across sensitive skin. 

Brock finished his inventory of their small arsenal. Would it be enough to hold off HYDRA? His conclusion: They were totally fucked. 

However, there was something very interesting in the side pocket. A small bottle of lube with a post-it note that read, “Be gentle, okay?” in Murphy’s loopy hand-writing. Murphy, you son of a bitch. Brock smiled in anticipation. 

He tucked the bottle into his sweatpants’ pocket and leaned against the disgusting couch. Rollins was nude and the powerful muscles in his body rippled as he did his best to get the last bits of Rumlow off his skin. 

“That’s why I swallow. Easier to clean up.” Brock quipped. 

Rollins looked over his shoulder at Brock and braced his hands against the counter, spread his legs. “Am I all clean?” 

Brock’s mouth went dry at that invitation.  

Once you got past that sweet crunchy exterior Jack had something surprisingly in common with his other world duplicate. They were both fucking insatiable. 

He ran his bandaged hands over Jack’s skin, touching him reverently. It was as if the only thing that made sense to Brock was the scent of Jack’s sweat and the salt on his tongue. Jack shivered and the faintest trace of goosebumps prickled under his fingertips.

“You cold?” Brock asked, kissing his way across Jack’s scapula.  

Jack shook his head, “Just— a little overwhelmed.” 

Brock cupped his ass with both hands and kneaded the flesh as best he could.“Nobody treated you like this before?” 

“Not really.” Heat rose around Jack’s ears. 

“Fools. Blind stupid fools.” Brock reached up and grabbed Jack’s chin, forced him to look down at him. “You’re amazing. Too good for me.” It was the truth, but he was so looking forward to defiling that goodness, scuffing it up and making it a bit filthy. 

The image of Rogers in his tactical gear leering flashed in his mind and Brock hid his momentary unease by embracing Jack tightly. 

“You always know just what to say, don’t you?” Jack’s expression warred between skepticism and adoration.  

“I just tell the truth.” 

“Always?” 

Brock laughed. “Hey, hey now. That’s classified.” He led Jack back to their cramped bed. He pressed his body up against Rollins and enjoyed the heat of his skin against his own. 

“Is your world any better than this one? Have you cured cancer?” Jack moaned as Brock kissed the corner of his lips. 

“Why? You wanna be a tourist?” 

“I’m curious. Do you think your Jack and I would get along?” 

 Brock blinked. “Jack doesn’t share well.” That was an understatement. Brock had learned to ignore the pissy comments and passive aggressive bullshit that Jack would pull whenever there was even a hint of Brock being interested in another man. Or woman. It didn’t matter. 

“So you’re cheating on him with me.” Jack didn’t talk to him for a week when he got the order to make special friends with Steve Rogers, the good one, the one with the soul made of tapioca. Jack had tunnel vision when it came to Brock. 

After close to seven years though, Brock yearned for a bit of variety. Which is why he volunteered to be the Asset’s handler. Well, one of the reasons. They were mostly boner related. 

“Technically? I’m not even in the same plane of existence as my Jack. You, on the other hand, are right here. Hard and soft, sweet and tough. And just looking at you makes me…” He ground his crotch against Jack’s thigh and Jack responded in kind, slotting his thigh up between Brock’s. 

Brock pulled the bottle of lube out of his pocket and waggled it in front of Jack’s nose. “Lookie, lookie Jackie.” 

“Is that for you or for me?” Jack licked his lips in anticipation. 

Brock flicked the tip of Jack’s noise, playfully. “Well since I’ve already had a royal reaming by Captain Curveball and my hemorrhoids still haven’t recovered…” He kissed Jack, catching his lower lip in his teeth and dragging it slowly away. “You game?” If he was going to die or worse, become a braindead sex puppet in this world, he was going to pop Jackie’s cherry as a consolation prize. 

“Are you okay? I mean, you’ve gone through a lot. Shouldn’t you be resting?” Brock blinked, not quite understanding. Jack rested his hand on Brock’s shoulder and softly clarified, his voice full of concern and empathy. “You were raped and tortured.” 

Brock shrugged. “Typical Thursday.” Jack shook his head in disbelief, so Brock smiled with all his neat white teeth. “Not my first time, I’ll be fine.” 

“I—“ Jack looked conflicted, he was hard as nails and yet, his concern for Brock’s well-being was holding him back. That would not do. 

Brock kissed him again, held the side of his jaw and stroked his beard with his thumb. “Worried about me? That’s so sweet.” He winked, “I’m made of tougher stuff than your version. I don’t cry and go talk to a shrink about my issues. I plot revenge.” And then I _take_ _out_ the problem. “Metaphorical revenge, course.” 

“You’re so different. From the Commander.”

“Not so different. Just in all the ways it counts.” One more kiss, he felt like a boy with his first crush. That must be the impending doom, hell of an aphrodisiac. 

“I can’t slick you up the way I want to, not with these,” He wriggled his bandaged hands, “So you’re gonna do it for me.”

“I’m what?” Jack looked shocked and color rose high in his cheeks. 

Brock leered, “You’re gonna rub this lube all over your tight hole and I’m going to talk you through it. Give you my expertise. Years of practice. I’ve practically got a doctorate.” He slapped Jack on the thigh. 

Jack squinted at him, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Should I call you Doctor Rumlow or Professor Rumlow?” 

“You can call me _daddy_ if you want.” 

“Oh fuck no!” Jack buried his face in the pillow and Brock laughed. Eventually he would. 

“It was just a thought.”

“You’re clean, right?” 

“Sure. On your hands and knees, pretty boy, spread your legs. That’s it, let me see you.” Jack obeyed without a mutter of protest. 

“Look at how pretty you are. So _untouched_. It’s like you were waiting for me.” He stroked Jack’s flank.“Do you believe in destiny, Jackie?” Jack shook his head. 

“Me neither. Right now, all I believe in is _you_.” Brock drizzled lube over Jack’s fingers. “Touch yourself. Slow circles.” He guided Jack’s hand with his own, careful to keep his bandages clean. His back was to the door as he knelt, so he could see Jack’s face and eager fingers working himself open. 

“That’s it baby, you’re too good, look at how fucking gorgeous you are.” His breath was ragged in his own ears. Jack was flushed red, his face half mashed into the pillow as he panted.

“Another finger baby. That’s it. I’m gonna make you feel good, so good.” Brock watched with awe at the wanton display of Rollins’ fingers working in and out of himself. 

He reached over and grabbed a fistful of Jack’s hair. Brock gave Jack’s head a little shake, “Look at me.” Jack cracked his lust-glazed eyes and his mouth was slack with desire.

“When you see a picture of the Commander, you’re not going to think about him, about how he fucked you over. You’re gonna think about me instead.” Another shake, just to get his attention. “Fucking you.” 

A cough. A goddamned cough behind them. 

Brock whipped around and his blood ran cold. He instinctively threw out his arms to cover Jack with his own body. He hadn’t heard a single sound. 

Steve Rogers was sitting on the arm of the hideous couch.He kicked the duffel bag of weapons across the room with a flick of the side of his foot. Rogers tossed something at Brock’s feet. 

Brock’s harness. 

“ _Put it on_.” 

 


	12. Chapter 12

 “Did I stutter?” Rogers asked as Brock frantically looked about for an exit. Unless they went through the trailer wall, they were trapped.

 “And, son, if I see you take your fingers out of that pert asshole, then I’ll break every single one of them.” That was to Rollins, who froze like a deer in oncoming headlights. A deer with his right hand halfway up his ass. 

“How did you find us?” Brock asked, stalling for time. He still had the knife under his pillow. It felt like using a toothpick against a tiger. 

“It wasn’t hard.” Rogers chuckled to himself and gestured at Brock’s wilting erection, “Unlike you.” He crossed his arms and looked pointedly at the harness. 

“I had a tracker on you from the moment you left the hospital. Didn’t even need to pick up and torture your second.” He shrugged, “Doesn’t mean that I _didn’t_. But it wasn’t necessary.” 

“Murphy. What’s his status?” Brock picked up the harness, surreptitiously checked to see that the special surprises in the webbing and buckles were still there. Everything was still there. 

 “Breathing. For now.” _Fuck_. He liked this version of Murphy, even with the show tunes. “He never made it back to report. Your cooperation is vital to their survival. But they’re just details. This is all about you and me.”

He put the harness on and fumbled with the catch. Rogers made a clucking sound with his tongue and swatted his hands, locking the buckle. “Must I do everything?” 

He caught Brock’s face in his hand. “I still can’t see the difference. Every spot, each line is the same.” 

“What are you talking about?” Brock blinked, feigning ignorance. 

Rogers examined his face, pulled back an eyelid. Looked at his teeth. “You’re not my Commander. You’re some weird duplicate from another world.” He tapped the mark on Brock’s chest. “Should have known, this tattoo was a giveaway. And the real Commander would have given in to me. He wouldn’t have fought. We had a connection.” 

 _What a whack job_. Brock bluffed, “If I’m not the real deal, then why are you here? Lonely?” Rogers’ lips quirked in a smile. 

“Witch! Get in here!” He called out. 

The Asgardian walked into the trailer, her hands bound in front of her. An angry red sutured line ran from her temple up her scalp. She glared at Brock and he knew that he was boned.

She said, “I have to touch him.” Brock held still as the woman pressed her forehead to his and touched his face. 

 _This one is a monster._ The words appeared in his mind as clearly as if she was speaking in his ear. Not the weirdest thing that had happened to him. _As are you._

 _The mark on your chest. To open the portal I needed to sacrifice a life. I sacrificed the wrong man with your face. So I am trapped here._ He could feel her impatience and frustration.

_This is all your fault, lady. I shot you. Why should I trust you? Why not blast me right here and be done with it?_

_He wants to conquer our world. We cannot let him leave here. He understands only blood and pain and he will burn the universe down. You, you know this. I see that you are no hero. You are much like the monster, but you are not as far gone into madness._ She made a compelling argument. 

_Can you remove the mark?_

_No. Not without a knife. It only needs to be touching the sacrifice._

Fuck _. So you want me to cut this out of my skin and slap it on Captain Crazy there._

_Yes. Then I will activate the portal with the last of my power. And you may be able to save your strapping lover from his clutches. He will make all of us suffer._

_If we make it out of this,_ I _will make you suffer._

_I would gladly volunteer, for you are the lesser of two evils,traitor._

“Well?” Rogers prompted, his patience tested. 

She dropped her hands and stepped away from Brock. Her eyes pleaded with him. “He is from my world.” 

“Fascinating. So you have a Captain America, a hero. And we have the Commander. Also a hero.” A long, slow appraising glance. “So what does that make you?” 

“I’m a patriot.” Brock blustered.

“What you are is a _disappointment_. Witch?” He snapped his fingers. 

“He is a double agent, his loyalties are not to SHIELD.” She pursed her lips and said, “He is HYDRA.” 

“No!” Rollins gasped in disbelief and Brock’s heart plummeted into the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t wanted it to turn out like this, but you had to roll with it.

Rogers tilted his head and evenly responded, “I don’t recall giving you permission to speak, son.” He gestured at the Asgardian. “Go sit on the couch and await orders. You may yet survive this witch.” 

Everyone looked at Brock and he decided to stop pretending to be a good guy. He crossed his arms and smiled with all his teeth. A mongoose to Rogers’ cobra. 

“Well _fuck me_. And I was doing such a good job pretending to be on the side of the angels. It’s exhausting, you know? Watching both sides fuck up so royally.”

“No wonder you chose my belt. You knew what the devices would do.” Rogers appraised him cooly. It was a good sign that he hadn’t already ripped out Brock’s trachea.  

 “I was just glad that you didn’t pick what was in the third drawer on the right hand side. The _demyelinator_. That’s some nasty shit.” Rogers’ eyes widened, that was a brand new toy. Brock hadn’t even gotten to play with it yet on the Asset. “Personally, I like the classics like pliers and toenails, but the techs keep making some sweet ass tools.” 

 “I’m not really impressed with your facility or your lackeys. For example, you piss on the guest _after_ you cut them up. Stings more.” He reached over and petted Rollins’ hair. “Just when things were getting interesting.” 

Rollins jerked back from his touch. “Oh come on now kitten.”

“Pray tell how you find _me_ lacking.” Rogers gritted out. 

“You’re perfect. You know you are.” Brock gripped Rollins’ hair and tugged on it. “You just don’t have people tell you enough. What’s the point of perfection, if nobody knows about it?” Brock stroked and pulled on Jack’s hair, it was so soft. 

“It is… frustrating.” Rogers said and rolled his eyes. “Oh take your hand out of your ass, son. You look like someone stuffing a turkey.” Rollins slowly took out his fingers with a squelch and glared at both men. He wasn’t stupid enough to smart off, not naked in front of two HYDRA agents. 

“See, I was thinking that the only people who know about my situation are in this room or in your capable hands.” He stroked his fingers along the muscles in Rollins’ side, the skin quivered under his touch. “So why not exploit that?” 

“I’m listening.” 

“Ever play a game with a marked deck?” Brock clicked his tongue, “Come on Cap, keep up with me here.” 

“Patronize me and it will be your last mistake.” 

“I’m just saying,” Brock licked his thumb and cleaned a smudge off of Rollin’s face. He mouthed the words, _trust me,_ out of Roger’s line of sight. Rollins made a tiny nod and Brock actually felt a bit guilty about what was about to happen. “That I can make you look _good_. Give you the inside scoop, extra intel. Fuck up a few missions. Sully the Commander’s good name. Really, we’re working for the same goal. A better world. And who would be better to run it than you? Mr. Perfection.” 

Rogers plucked the edge of Brock’s harness. “You are more… intriguing than I had thought a clone would be Mr. Rumlow.” 

“Not a clone.” Brock shrugged, “I’m actually a Commander on my world too. But I didn’t get voted Sexiest Man Alive there. It wouldn’t be hard to impersonate the bastard. Well, unless they make me cook dinner.” He laughed, a short bark. “Blame any other mistakes I make on a little PTSD. No better way to make people feel guilty about questioning a hero’s motives. What do you think?” 

Rogers spoke into his ear, hot breath stirring the soft hair behind Brock’s ear. Only sheer determination kept Brock’s teeth from chattering in fear. “I could always kill you if you fail.” 

“I don’t fail.” Brock huffed and Rollins shifted his body just enough to make the mattress squeak. Rogers’ eyes flicked over his prone naked body. Vulnerable and perfectly formed. Acres of pale flesh aching to be marked by teeth, nails and tools.  

“Is this the version of your Jack?” Brock nodded as Rogers stroked the curve of Rollin’s tight ass. Suddenly he smacked itand Rollins stifled a yelp in the pillow. A welt in the shape of Rogers’ hand arose red and angry. It was beautiful. “He’s well-behaved.” 

Brock knelt down and kissed Rollins wetly. “Been looking forward to pushing him to his breaking point,” Rollins looked at him with terror in his eyes as he saw a hint of the cruelty that Brock was capable of. 

Something hot and mean snarled in the back of Brock’s mind. It had been too long since he’d indulged in some _fun_ and damned if he wasn’t going to enjoy himself a little before he made his move. He didn’t have to pretend to be kind or understanding. He could just give in to his baser, more savage impulses. And this darling, besotted Jack would _forgive_ him anything. 

“Jackie loves to please. Don’t you Jackie?” He cajoled, petting Rollins’ hair and kissing his cheeks. “We were just getting ready to pop his cherry.” 

“I saw. I heard. You have a filthy mouth on you.” There were spots of color high on Rogers’s cheeks.  

“You have no fucking idea.” Brock licked his lips and slinked up to Rogers. “Wanna find out? Instead of just watching?” He snapped the harness strap against his skin. 

“It would be a shame to let this go to waste.” Rogers unzipped his tact suit zipper. The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet of the trailer. The Asgardian looked at the floor. 

Rollins started to whimper. He trembled in fear and anticipation. _Better you than me kid,_ Brock thought. _At least you got prepped and stretched._

Brock laughed, “Wouldn’t it? A crying shame.” 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty brutal.

 Brock sat on the bed naked except for the harness, he lifted Rollins’ chin and crooned, “You’re gonna be a good boy for us, aren’t you Jackie? Good boys get rewards, get pleasure. Bad boys get— “ 

“Their intestines pulled out.” Rogers interrupted as he took off the top of his tactical suit. Brock took a deep breath and stilled his shaking hand by caressing Rollins’ skin. He raised his eyebrow at the threat, with Rogers it was more of a promise. Fucking psychopath. 

“I’ll— do whatever you want,” Rollins screwed his eyes tightly shut and whispered, “Commander.” Brock rubbed the back of his neck, he knew how much that cost Jack to say. He had good survival instincts once his morals weren’t involved. 

Rogers sighed dismissively. “I wasn’t asking for permission.” He knelt behind Jack. “Oh, I don’t share. You have a short memory. You can stand over there.” Rogers dug his fingers into Jack’s thigh, he smirked as Rollins sucked in a quick hissing breath of pain. “Where I can see you.” 

“Whatever man.” Brock said and he leaned against the couch. He crossed his arms and scowled, because Rogers needed to feel like he was taking something precious away from him. That was part of the game, the showboating and establishing dominance. Rogers needed to be the biggest, baddest predator in the room at all times. And he _was_.  

And goddamnit. Rollins was _his._ He’d done all the hard work, all the sweet talk and grooming. Rogers just swooped in and stole his prize. God _fucking_ damn it. 

Rollins whimpered as the Captain struck his other ass cheek, just to be symmetrical. It wasn’t the pain, so much as the anticipation. 

Rogers stroked himself and Brock bit the inside of his cheek. That monstrosity had been inside of him. Streaked withhis blood. 

Rogers wasn’t looking at Rollins. His icy gaze was fixed on Brock even as he thrust his cock brutally inside Rollins. The strangled yelp that rose and died in Jack’s throat made him smile. Brock almost winced on Jack’s behalf, but he had a part to play. There was no room for weakness, for compassion in HYDRA. 

“Order through pain, man, order through pain.” His mantra, his code, gave Jack no comfort because he didn’t understand the truth in it. 

Jack gritted his teeth as Rogers grabbed a handful of his hair for better leverage. The buckles and straps on his tactical suit pants scraped the skin on the back of Jack's thighs raw. “Fuck you.” Rollins spat with venom at Brock. 

Rogers _flicked_ Jack in the face with one finger and blood fountained from his nose, the bridge painfully askew. “Does that feel like _order_ to you?” 

For a moment, Brock was back in the STRIKE locker room, where Captain America awkwardly wrapped his spit-slicked fingers about Brock’s dick for the absolutely worst hand-job of Brock’s entire life. _“Come on, Big Guy. It’s not gonna break.”_  

Jesus Christ. 

“He’s young. Hasn’t learned the hard facts about life yet.” He was learning, right now. Learning about how fucking brutal life could be, how unfair and fickle. HYDRA had taught Brock these truths and that’s the only reason he was still breathing. 

That wasn’t guilt curling up in the pit of Brock’s stomach. It wasn’t. 

Rogers clicked his tongue as he paused his ruthless thrusting, he fired a finger gun at Rumlow. “The hard facts.”

Brock hazarded a chuckle. _That’s right, you bastard. I’m your pal. Your buddy._  

Rogers opened a side pouch and unsheathed a slim blade. Light caught the keen edge as he held it up. “Vibranium. Holds an edge, never dulls.” He barely touched the skin on Rollins’ shoulder with the tip of the knife, it parted and blood welled up from the scratch. Brock watched as Rollins shivered and shook, the knife sketching out a red star in his flesh. 

“I’ve always liked _stars_.” Rogers said dreamily, Rollins clenched in spasms of pain on his dick. “I’d stare up at the night sky and count them. That was back when the sky was clear and there were no lights to interfere. I’d think about other words, things I’d read in comic books and cheap novels. And I’d wonder about those worlds and how much better it must be there.” He easily dislocated Rollins’ shoulder and smiled as Jack nearly vomited from agony.

He cut another small star into the back of Rollins’ other shoulder blade, perfectly symmetrical. Then he flayed the skin away from the center. Brock felt ill and painfully aware of the heat pooling in his groin as Jack screamed. “Miracles happen. Just look at me.” 

Rogers heard his breathing change and looked at Brock’s face with curiosity. He gestured for Brock to come closer and Brock stepped forward, as if in a dream. Brock’s eyes were wide, his lips parted and wet. 

“Beautiful. Isn’t it?” Rogers said with reverence in Brock’s ear. Brock nodded, his mouth was suddenly dry. 

“May I?” He asked, yearning in his voice. He heard Jack’s small sobs, but they were fuzzy and indistinct through the fog of Brock’s arousal. 

Rogers put the blade in Brock’s fingers, blood didn’t cling to the metal. He flipped the knife, testing the balance with deft fingers. Rogers smirked at his obvious appreciation of the tool and the rapidly growing tent in his sweatpants.

He should have apologized. He should have uttered a soothing platitude and stroked Jack’s hair. _He didn’t_. Instead he took his cock out and rubbed it in the blood dripping down Jack’s arm and groaned in frank appreciation of the gory canvas in front of him. 

Rogers motioned with his hand, a gesture of impatience. 

The blade had no drag, no friction. It was like painting with a bottle of red ink and Brock lost himself for a moment in the sheer blissful motions. 

The Asgardian coughed. 

It was enough for Brock to momentarily come back to himself, free from the red-tinged haze of pleasure of inflicting pain. This wasn’t the Asset. This was _Jack._ He glanced at Jack’s sweat-covered face, pale from blood loss, battered and shocky. His erection didn’t deflate. He should have been ashamed of that. 

Rogers wrapped his bloody fingers about Brock’s dick and tugged with finesse as he thrust inside Rollins. Brock offered up his mouth and Rogers claimed his lips, they kissed. They parted, Brock touched the rune on his skin. 

 _“Cut this off of me,_ ” he hissed against Rogers’ lips. “Make me into your Commander. _Please._ ” Rogers’ hips stuttered and he came, gasping his breath into Brock’s mouth. 

Rogers pulled out of Rollins, there was too much red in this room. Far too much red. He wiped himself on the bedsheets and zipped up. Brock presented the blade and tilted back his chin, exposing his throat in submission. 

“You are breathtaking.” Rogers said in wide-eyed wonder, he carded his fingers through Brock’s hair. 

“I am _yours_.” Brock panted as the blade touched his skin. Red hot weals of pain as Rogers traced the edges of the rune, as skilled and dextrous as a surgeon. 

Brock gritted his teeth and swore, “ _Fuck!_ ” as the final cut was made and Rogers pulled off the skin with a twist. He handed Brock the knife, reached in another pouch and pulled out a dressing kit. 

Rogers tutted as he dressed Brock’s wound. “We’ll need to get some stitches in that. Make it neat and pretty. You belong to me now.” Brock winced at his touch and his words. “We’ll burn down the world together, you and I.” 

Rogers held the scrap of skin in his fingers. The Asgardian started to chant, low and slow. Brock took the bloody fingers of Rogers’ other hand into his mouth and suckled them as a distraction. “Hail HYDRA.” He still had the blade in his other hand.

The rune started to glow, Brock pressed himself up against Captain HYDRA and ground his cock against his thigh. “I need you, please. Oh please, I’m begging you. Don’t make me suffer.” 

Brock saw out of the corner of his eye that Jack was watching. Battered, beaten Jack stared at Brock with utter hatred and contempt. 

He looked much more like Brock’s Jack now. 

There was a bright light and Rogers pushed Brock away, he flew against the trailer wall. He dropped the glowing scrap of skin and Brock shouted, “No!” 

“You would BETRAY me!?” Rogers shouted, bellowing in rage as he realized what Brock had done, “I will destroy you!”Brock stared as as Steve Rogers approached him, ready to rip out his spine. Literally. 

Jack, sweet dumb Jack, picked up the scrap of skin and slapped it on his battered body. The Asgardian, forgotten by the couch, chanted her final words. Rogers stared into the light, distracted. 

Brock lunged with the knife. He buried it in Rogers’ throat and the super soldier fell onto the bed with Jack. Jack wrapped his good arm around Roger’s neck and screamed, “DO IT!” 

The light flared and the portal opened, obliterating both men. The Asgardian stepped forward and looked at him with pity. “Come. I honor our agreement.” She offered a hand, Brock took it and the two of them stepped into the portal. 

* * *

 

Epilogue

 

“You’re quiet tonight.” Jack said. They sat on the porch of the cabin. Acres of stars spread out before them. “Wounds bothering you, old man?” 

“A little.” Brock rubbed where the rune had been cut out of his skin. It was still red and angry, probably would never fade. That seemed right. 

“You remember what happened to you yet?” It had been four weeks since he was recovered from the ruins where he disappeared. He still called for Jack, moaning, in his sleep. Sometimes it was "Jackie," but Rollins never questioned it. 

Brock shook his head. “Nope.” It seemed better not to share his adventures with SHIELD or HYDRA. Everyone seemed to believe his claim of PTSD as well. 

“Fucking magic.” Jack succinctly said.

“ _Fucking magic._ ” Brock agreed. They sat in comfortable silence as an owl hooted in the distance. 

After a while, Brock said, “Hey Jack?” He stretched out his hand.

Jack took it, suspiciously, with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah?” 

“You should grow a beard.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for joining me on the nightmare ride that is the Mirrorverse. All your comments kept me writing at a fever pace. And now those of you who don't read WPI, enjoy!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now the story shifts to another locale...
> 
> Jack Rollins, ex-sniper for STRIKE team ALPHA finds himself transported to an unfamiliar world. Now all he has to do is survive with the help of an unlikely ally, Captain HYDRA, Steve Rogers, who is trapped there with him. 
> 
> They'll survive and try to kill each other later. Like gentlemen.

 

Rollins, Rogers, his uniform and part of the bed landed hard on the ground, as if dropped from a great height. The mattress and Captain HYDRA had broken Jack’s fall nicely. He blinked as his vision flashed and bright floaters traveled across his eyes. 

There was a light wind and the air smelled dusty. It was daybreak, but the sun wasn’t rising in the right place. 

Jack sat up with a groan, holding his dislocated arm against his side. Whatever had happened, at least he wasn’t bleeding from the knife wounds anymore. Other parts of him still ached, he inhaled with a sharp hiss as he shifted his legs. It reminded him that his nose was still broken too.

Captain HYDRA was limp, unresponsive and quite possibly dead from the knife in his neck. _Good._ Jack took stock of his situation. _Butt naked and alive. Things could be worse._

He promptly set to stripping Rogers of his pants and boots. It took a while with one hand, but soon Jack was fastening the belt around his waist. It was an odd belt, it didn’t seem to go with the tactical suit and there were teeth marks in the leather. Jack shrugged the jacket on with one shoulder. 

He pulled the blade out of Rogers’ neck, it was eerily sharp and precisely balanced. _Vibranium_ , worth more than anything Jack had ever touched. He thought for a moment about Brock and his neat white teeth gleaming in the dark and shook his head. Some things were too sharp to be trusted. He cut the sheet into a sling for his arm. 

 He glanced down at the bloody sheets and Rogers’ prone, naked body on the ground. Hatred flared up in his gut. His pulse thundered in his ears and he kicked Rogers hard in the ribcage. Again and again until the tears stopped flowing down his face and he panted in exhaustion. He spat on the corpse. Leave it out for the scavengers, let his bones be picked clean and scattered to the wind. No one would know, no one would mourn either of them here. 

That thought was too bleak to contemplate and Jack wasn’t a quitter. Jack looked at the horizon, there was a glint of light that promised water. He set off to find help, because no one was coming to save him. Not from any world, ever. 

It was water, not the mirage that Jack was sullenly resigned to finding. A clean pool with leaping frogs, swarms of insects and something that looked like fish swimming in the depths. Some one had left a campfire ring and stack of dried dung for fuel. Travelers looking out for each other on the long lonely roads. That was good, that meant that he just had to wait. What if he didn’t speak their language? 

Jack squashed those thoughts down. He’d worry about that when the time came, right now he just had to get his arm popped back into place. He tried to wedge against some rocks, a tree, but no matter how hard he pressed he couldn’t get the right leverage. Jack slid down against the tree trunk and sat on the ground. 

He closed his eyes and listened to the alien, yet familiar landscape sounds. That’s when he heard the footstep. His eyes shot open, but he was too slow and a hand clamped on his throat. 

“ _That’s my outfit_.” Rogers’ voice grated in his ear. “Thanks for the ribcage massage. It was just what I needed to rise like old Lazarus.” Jack gurgled under his absurdly strong fingers. “What’s that, son? You’re saying that you’re ever so sorry and you’ll do anything I say if I’ll spare your miserable worthless hide?” 

Rogers smiled, his teeth red with blood. He clapped Jack on the shoulder in a comradely way. “Of course. You did save my life.” He reached out and wrenched Jack’s arm back into the socket, Jack howled with pain. A flock of birds spooked and scattered. Rogers laughed and as an afterthought, pinched the bridge of Jack’s nose, setting the bone with an eye-watering snap. He sat on the ground next to Jack and stretched out languidly in his skin, looking into the forest canopy above them. “We’re even now.” 

Jack didn’t know what to say to that, so he stayed silent. It felt like only minutes had passed since that man had brutally savaged his body. He stared at the nightmare made flesh. 

“Take a picture, it will last longer.” Rogers muttered. “The sun is going to get brutal. Keep the suit. I don’t sunburn, but you’ll be a crispy critter. I do want my knife back. You know, the one that bastard buried in my throat?” Jack nodded. “He had us both fooled, didn’t he?” 

Jack rubbed feeling back into his hand and didn’t respond. 

“I’m not sure if I hate him or love him more for that. Gotta respect a professional, don’t you?” Rogers sighed, “It’s just you and me now son. Good thing I’ve already broken you in.” 

“I’ll kill myself if you touch me again.” 

“Oh peaches. Stop with the sweet nothings, I’m gonna blush.” Rogers blinked slowly, he wasn’t at full strength yet and Rollins rubbed the hilt of the knife with his thumb. “Nice and slow. Just because I want you for later, doesn’t mean I won’t break off parts of you now.” 

Jack swallowed and put the blade on the ground between them. “ _Good_ _boy_.” The casual praise made Jack’s gorge rise, but he choked back his bile and looked into the distance. 

“I know you want to kill me and I respect that, but let’s work together to survive this and maybe find a way to beat the shit out of Brock Rumlow.” Rogers’ voice was already healing, the gravel smoothing into silky menace. “We’re _professionals_ too.”

Jack felt the fresh stars carved into his skin and nodded assent. Rogers spit into his palm and Jack did the same, they shook hands and Jack wiped his palm on his stolen pants. It was an uneasy truce, but there was food to be found and fire to be built before the cold set in and animals came sniffing about. 

They’d try to kill each other later. 

 


	15. Chapter 15

Jack carefully arranged the dried dung in the fire ring. Then he started to rub two sticks together, blowing on the tinder. Rogers sat on a rock and watched him with amusement flickering over his features. The blade hung around his neck in a vibranium lined sheath. 

“Will this take much longer?” He yawned. “It’s getting dark,” he petulantly complained.

“If you can do better, you’re welcome to try.” A small curl of smoke hopefully rose and was extinguished. “Damn it. Quit being so distracting!” Jack snapped out of frustrated exhaustion. 

Without his clothing, Jack could see every powerful sinew in Rogers flex and his eyes widened. Rogers’ lip curled back in a snarl and before Jack could blink, he lunged at Jack and pinned him to the ground. 

Both wrists were pinned above Jack’s head by one massive arm. Rogers’ nose was almost touching Jack’s and slowly, Rogers tilted his head, parted his lips as if about to kiss him. Jack held his breath, his head swam with confusion. Rogers reached back with one hand, flipped open a flap on the tactical pants. He pulled out a lighter, flicked it. A flame sparked beside Jack’s ear. 

“I always can do better.” Rogers sat up and lit the fire. He snapped the lighter shut and warmed his hands. “You’d best remember that, son.” His stern patrician profile was illuminated by the flames, making him look otherworldly, blonde backlit hair tousled and soft. 

Jack swallowed hard, “I don’t think I’ll ever forget. Any of it.” He glared and rubbed his arms with his hands. “Never forget your first time, do you?” The shiver that ran through his body wasn’t from the chilly night air.

Rogers snorted, “Don’t take it so personal. I was just making a point to that bastard.” He tossed a stone into the pool. “That wasn’t really your first time, was it?” Jack nodded and a self satisfied grin spread over Rogers’ mouth. “Ruined you for any other man, didn’t I?” 

Jack gathered his knees to his chest and stared into the fire. “Shut up.” 

“Oh it’s not so bad.” Rogers put his hands behind his head and leaned back against his rock perch. “Once you’ve experienced the pleasure of my company, everything else is going to feel a bit…” He thought for a moment, “ _Tarnished._ Yes, that’s it. Gosh, haven’t had myself a virgin since that nice English lass with the right hook back in ’43. Oh, her _screams_. I can still hear them after all this time. Must be the accent.” Jack didn’t respond and Rogers rolled his eyes, “Get some rest. I’ll take first shift. And yes, I could kill you in your sleep, but it wouldn’t be much fun, now would it?” 

“Thanks.” Jack muttered sarcastically. “I’d hate to stop being an amusement for you.” He curled up on his side, favoring his injured shoulder. 

Rogers clicked his tongue, fired a finger gun at Jack and blew away the imaginary smoke. “That’s the spirit.” 

It was very late, it felt like he’d been sleeping for days. Jack felt fingers petting his hair, infinitely gentle and tender. A dream. _Brock._  

 _“It’s okay, Jackie boy. I’ll make it feel better. I’ll make it all right.”_ He leaned into the touch, remembering how those fingers made his heart swell with fondness and affection. Was that love? How could you love someone you’d only known for a few days? Someone who lied about everything?

 A kiss on the side of his throat made Jack moan and strong arms held him in place. “Brock—“ he whispered with dry lips. 

“Not even close.” Steve’s voice rumbled in his ear. Jack tried to sit up and scoot away, but Steve hooked his leg over Jack’s. His huge cock pressed hot and hungrily against the small of Jack’s back. “I can still smell myself inside you. I bet you’re still slick and ready for me.”

“ _Please_ , no!” Jack begged and Steve patted his injured shoulder, indulgently. 

“Fine. It has been a rough day, hasn’t it? Now lay still and be a good boy. Don’t fall asleep while you’re on watch, boy. I’ll know and then we’ll have to _pass the time_ somehow.” Rogers chuckled against the nape of Jack’s neck, his breath obscenely hot on Jack’s skin until it smoothed into regularity. Even monsters needed to sleep, apparently. 

He was marooned on a strange world with a super-powered psychopath. Jack stared out into the darkness and prayed to whatever god answered the pleas of lost fools. It must have been a hell of a good prayer because in the darkness, beyond the edge of the oasis, there was a flash of light. Hope swelled his heart sweeter than any honeyed words of seduction. 

_A SHIELD code._

He wasn’t alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quickie before the week starts. This won't be updated daily, I can't keep up that pace during the holidays. But I will update. Promise.


	16. Chapter 16

 

 Jack couldn’t signal back, not with Rogers snuggled up against him like a handsy koala. So he waited and watched until the sun came up. 

“I have to piss.” Jack announced and Rogers finally let go. Every bone in his body ached from sleeping on the dirt, from getting cut like a slab of meat and from getting— No. He wasn’t going to think about that. Another time. He’d push back his rising gorge and think about how he was getting home. Or away from Rogers. Either option would be fine.

He stood up, his joints creaking and walked towards where he’d seen the signal flash. He wasn’t hallucinating. He wasn’t. Jack gritted his teeth. 

“Where you going, sunshine?” Rogers called to him. “Thinking of making a run for it? Wouldn’t recommend it.” 

“I’m not pissing near the water.” Jack risked a look back over his shoulder. “Do you want to watch me?”

Rogers yawned, “Not right now. But that reminds me. That fake Commander was _right._ You have to piss on them _after_ you cut ‘em up.” He slapped his forehead, “It’s so obvious.” Rogers smiled as innocently as a school boy who had forgotten his homework, “I’m a little embarrassed.” 

“God. You are _messed up._ ” Jack muttered under his breath. 

“I heard that. Just for that fresh lip, I’ll test it out.”Rogers just laughed, but there wasn’t any mirth or warmth in it. It wasa cunning imitation of a laugh, made by something that had forgotten what it was like to be human. “I’m just joking around, son. Really. Can’t take a joke?”

Jack walked a little quicker off to the edge of the clearing, his feet slid forward in his borrowed boots. He looked about for footprints, anything that would validate his hopes. 

_Nothing._  

Jack leaned up against a tree trunk, closed his eyes. It was all in his head. He’d made the whole thing up. He shook the piss dribble off his cock. At least, Rogers wasn’t watching him take a leak—

“Want me to hold it for you?” Rogers purred in his ear. 

“HOLY SH—!” Jack startled. He hadn’t heard a single footstep. Rogers caught him about his throat with his steel-cabled arm and squeezed. Jack struggled to no avail, all his training and tricks were useless against Rogers’ dominating strength. 

“I could crush your throat, just like that…” Rogers said dreamily, flexing his arm. “Listen to you drown in your own blood like the people in the tuberculosis ward.” He slid his free hand down Jack’s flank and dug his fingers into the skin above the belt. “But then, I’d probably get bored fucking your corpse. So make some noises for me, son.” 

Jack whimpered in spite of himself. “Oh peaches, that’s so sweet. Take off the pants. Now.” Jack fumbled with the belt, black spots dancing in his vision. He wanted to fight back, he wanted to bite and scratch, to kick and claw but that would just make Rogers grin. The pants fell around his ankles. “That’s such a good boy. You take orders like a pro.” 

A cold hand stroked his skin. Why was Rogers' skin still so cold in this heat? “Isn’t that what that bastard called you? Sweet little words, crooning in your ear? Well, he’s gone and I’m your Commander now. Aren’t you a lucky lad?” 

It wasn’t as if Jack could reply, he could barely breath through the constriction about his neck. It didn’t matter. Rogers was in love with the sound of his own voice, that much was obvious. Maybe if he thought about other things, better things, he could get past this. 

Why did his thoughts keep drifting back to Brock? Rutting in the cabin. Kissing up against the stove. Feeling wanted, needed and appreciated for the first time… _ever_. It was enough to make his dick swell in Rogers’ chilly grasp. “Well now. Aren’t you full of surprises?” He pushed up against Jack’s ass, rubbed his giant erection between his cheeks. 

Jack thought about singing show tunes and bandages on hands. Kisses in the dark. Kisses with sharp nipping teeth. Brock was with the other Rollins now and jealousy stung Jack’s heart. _Why?_ He knew better. 

Rogers pushed him down, onto his hands and knees and Jack clenched his eyes shut, gritted his teeth and prepared for the worst. “What? What is this?” Rogers asked in surprise as he gripped Jack’s hip. 

“What?” Jack slurred out, his face in the dirt between his forearms. 

“The tattoo. You’ve got that goddamned Asgardian tattoo on your ass!” Rogers swallowed with a suddenly dry mouth, “And it’s _glowing._ Why is it glowing?” 

“I don’t know!” Jack said, “You cut it off of him!” 

Rogers ran his fingertips over the ink, “It’s fused with your skin. And the glow is fading. Why is it fading?” 

“Why are you asking me? I don’t know anything more than you do!” Jack dug his fingers into the dirt.

Rogers grabbed his hair, yanked back his neck, exposing his throat. “Tell me! Tell me how to get back home or so help me I will pull out all of your teeth and make you swallow them.” 

“I don’t know! I don’t!” 

 “ _Liar._ ” That was it. “LIAR!” Rogers bellowed in rage. That was it. Jack was dead. He closed his eyes and waited for his destruction. _Make it quick._

The sound of a pistol hammer being cocked back was shockingly loud in the quiet of the oasis. “Easy now. I think a .45 point-blank to the skull will put a twist in even your panties, Captain HYDRA.” 

Jack scrambled forward, yanking up the pants and twisting in the dirt out of Rogers’ grasp. He stared up into the beautiful face of of his rescuer who was holding a gun to Rogers’ temple. Rogers looked annoyed. 

“Holy shit!” Jack swore in astonishment.

“ _Language._ ” Commander Brock Rumlow admonished. 

 


	17. Chapter 17

“Stay where you are.” The Commander ordered, staring at Rogers over the sight of his gun. “No sudden movements.”

Rogers gave the Commander a hungry smile and looked him up and down. “Judging by your very attractive stubble, you haven’t seen a razor in a week or so. So you must be the one I was waiting for. A second chance to get things right.” He licked his lips and wasn’t remotely concerned about the muzzle aimed at his face. “And _you know me._ ” He ran his hand slowly through his hair, preening. 

“Yeah. I know you. I’ve been hot on your trail since the Beirut incident. Didn’t expect you to drop out of the sky with one of my team, but I’ll take it.”

Jack couldn’t stop staring. The two Brocks were almost exactly the same, but the Commander was missing his left earlobe. That must have been the part Murphy found. 

“Yes, Agent Rollins?” The Commander asked. “Have I got something on my face?” 

“It’s going to sound really weird, but—“ 

“I got blasted here by an Asgardian witch who was a little too happy to see me in retrospect. I’m open to the possibilities of weird.” His aim never faltered and Jack started to feel hopeful. As much as this Brock hated him, he was a professional with all the skills and training that had made him a legend. It wasn’t all publicity and press releases. 

Jack stammered, “This is— an alternate world. There are duplicates of all of us out there on these multiple worlds and they aren’t all…” 

“Perfect. They aren’t all perfect. They’re flawed copies.” Rogers interrupted, bored. “They had a version of me named Captain America, of all things. Sounds like a comic book character.” Rogers sneered. 

The Commander raised an eyebrow. “I kinda like it. Sounds patriotic. And don’t you take another step. I need you alive, but you don’t need your kneecaps to breathe.”

“You’re not as much fun to meet the second time. Maybe it’s because I don’t feel as _awestruck_ this time. Maybe it’s because I already had your twin begging for my cock, crawling on the floor and licking my boots. His bite marks are still in the leather on my belt.” Rogers gestured towards Jack then reached back behind him with one hand, to scratch his ass… Something was wrong here, Jack had a bad feeling— where was the vibranium blade?

“He’s got a knife!” Jack yelled and Rogers lunged at the Commander with the blade in hand. It should have been over in seconds, but with quick sharp jabs the Commander knocked the knife out of Rogers’ suddenly numb fingers. A deft leg sweep and Captain HYDRA landed face first in the dirt. It must have been the blood loss, he hadn’t fully healed yet, that had to be it. There was no way he could have taken down Rogers that easily. Jack’s mouth fell open as the Commander kicked Rogers right in his perfect teeth. 

Rogers laughed in the dirt, a high-pitched hysterical keening. His white teeth were stained red. Staring up at the Commander he said, “You’re wearing the fuckhandles.” He traced the harness in the air with his fingertip. “That’s a _plus_.” 

“You hid that in your butt crack?” Jack asked in amazement as he picked up the knife from the ground. Rogers nodded, he looked up at both of them through his long dark eyelashes and ran his tongue over his teeth. 

“We really should shoot him now. Really.” Jack begged the Commander. Rogers snapped his teeth at Jack and Jack jumped back a step. 

The Commander frowned in disapproval of both the suggestion and the flinch. _Whatever_. Jack knew not to trust the monster lolling nude in the dust before them. “We’re taking him back for trial.” 

“How long have you been here?” Jack asked. “Any response?” 

“Seven days or so. Scavenging has been sparse. I’ve sent out signal flares, distress calls. Remember I was in full gear when I got sent here.” The Commander and the Captain didn’t take their eyes off of each other. “There’s been no response. _Nothing_. It’s like all radio and satellite communications are down.”

“That’s impossible.” SHIELD had satellites crisscrossing the globe for good reason. Constant surveillance was the only way to guarantee the safety of the public. “We have over 99% saturation. And this isn’t Antartica.” 

Rogers mocked in a singsongy lilting voice, “Did you watch the sky last night, Peaches? I did.” 

“I was too busy watching my ass _._ And my name is not _Peaches._ ” Jack felt a little better saying that. 

“There are no satellites orbiting. No airplanes flying overhead either. And my eyesight is unparalleled. There’s _nothing_ up there.” He flicked a rock past Jack’s ear. It whizzed by like a bullet. “ _Peaches._ ”

“Fuck.” Jack muttered. If they didn’t have back up, a rescue soon, there was no way they’d be able to contain Rogers. They were only human. Maybe this world’s timeline was off, maybe they were before even pre-written history. He was going to die before he’d ever been _born._

“Just because we’re stranded out here doesn’t mean that we will revert to language like that, Agent.” The Commander chided. Jack looked at him in disbelief, was he serious? “We have to acquire food. And soon.” 

“Blah blah blah.” Rogers cocked his head to the side. “The solution is simple. We kill Peaches here and eat him. That should give us plenty of food.” 

Jack opened his mouth to protest and the Commander cut him off, “That’s not practical. There’s no way to preserve the flesh other than drying it and we’re missing a curing agent.” He paused, added as if an afterthought, “And it would be _wrong_.” 

“ _Thanks_.” Jack frowned and pointed at Rogers with more bravado than he felt inside, “You said the tattoo on my back was glowing?” He rubbed his fingers over the lightly raised design. 

“The tramp stamp on your _ass_ was glowing. Just like before the witch opened the portal. Remember? When you doomed us to this world with your foolhardy heroics to save our two-faced lover?” Rogers spat jealously. The Commander raised an eyebrow. “Oh, we have a lot to chat about. Can’t wait for the girl-talk later.” 

“But she was saying a magic spell.”

 The Commander nodded. “She did chant something before she blasted me.” 

“And we don’t know the words.” _Fuck_. Jack frowned.  

“You mean, _you_ don’t know the words. I have a near perfect memory.” He covered his mouth with his hand and spoke too softly to overhear. 

Jack’s lower back started to burn under his fingertips. He lifted up the jacket. He hissed in his breath and the other men looked at him in expectant hope. The mark dimmed and the pain faded. 

“Well?” Rogers crossed his arms. “What did you do wrong?” 

“Me? _Me?_ ” Jack sputtered indignantly, his huge hands balls up into fists and his eyes slitted with anger. Sure, he’d die, but he’d punch that look right off the smarmy bastard’s chiseled face. He took a step towards Rogers and the Commander set a hand on his shoulder.

“At ease, Agent.” He squeezed hard and it was enough to pull Jack back to his senses. “What else makes the mark glow?” 

Rogers grinned. “I think Peaches was thinking some dirty things about another man when I was being so sweet to him. I’m hurt. Who were you thinking about, son?” 

Jack was silent. He would die right there before he admitted anything. Rogers shrugged. “Your twin made a mess out of things. Especially your Agent there. I think he’s in love.” He made a face at the thought. 

“You’re the one who was, who _is_ obsessed with him. He told me about your bedroom wall. _The_ _Shrine_. Where you raped him.” Jack said with triumphant malice, “You’re his biggest fan, remember? You wanted to complete your collection, you said. And after all of that, he still chose me!” 

Rogers looked at the sky. Two spots of color rose high on his cheekbones. He muttered something. 

“What was that?” The Commander said. 

Rogers stared at Jack, “I said that when we get to our home world, I’m taking his pretty red leather couch and draping it with his flayed skin.” He crossed his heart. “I promise.” 

The Commander shook his head in irritation, “What— what if we combine all those things? The spell, the tattoo and the— you know.” He gestured at Jack. 

“Sure. Give him to me and I’ll make him so hard he’ll weep for release. One way or another.” 

“I am not fucking him. Jesus Christ!” 

“Oh Peaches, I can make it sweet for you, just like your first time.” He winked at the Commander. “Did you know that our boy there was a virgin until just yesterday? Or maybe the night before? Your twin had him moaning for it, stuffed to the brim with his own fingers. Slick and wet, it was glorious.” Rogers crooned in the dust. “Maybe you should kiss him Commander. He could pretend that your twin is whispering lovely little lies in his ear.”

“That’s— not an option.” The Commander said, swallowing as if his mouth was dry. “Fraternization is not permitted under Code 34-2—“ 

“Oh shut up with that nonsense. We’re not getting off this rock until we decipher what makes that tattoo tick. _Sacrifice._ ” Rogers made a face. 

“That doesn’t just mean _sacrifice_. Depending on how the rune is placed it also means _passion_ or _devotion_. I went to Asgardian cram school. Required after the Thor incident. Loki educated the higher ups at SHIELD in the basics of Asgardian culture so I was the cross-cultural liaison sent to negotiate with the witch.” 

“Fascinating. Well, your twin cared enough about that lad to run away with him after I made a phone call concerning his wellbeing while he was in the hospital.” 

“Hospital?” 

“Yes. Yes. A bit of stabbing. All quite harmless. Bit of a lark. But the point is, they had a relationship and you are the spitting image of his…” Rogers spat into the dust. “Brock Rumlow. So you better make friends and fast, because I’m not starving to death in this place.”

“You’re not taking another step.” 

“Oh please. I’ve grown weary of this farce.” Rogers sprang up with blinding speed and ripped the gun away from the Commander’s fingers. He grabbed the harness around his chest with one hand and lifted the Commander into the air and gave him a shake. “ _Deja vu._ ” 

“Don’t hurt him!” Jack yelled. “I’ll do it. I’ll do it. Please, please don’t hurt him.” 

Rogers didn’t look at Jack, he was mesmerized by the contours of the Commander’s dazed face. “Take off my gear. And everything better be in the pockets.”

“That’s why you didn’t let me out of your sight, huh?” Jack stripped off the suit and boots.

“That’s right. But I don’t sunburn either, that was a small kindness on my part. Don’t expect it again.” He threw the stunned Commander across the clearing, he landed in a pile against a tree. Rogers picked up the gun and his suit. “Now don’t disappoint me boy. I’ll be watching.” 

“You seem to get off on that.” 

“I need to speak the spell, son. Get on it.” Rogers laughed as he dressed in his suit, highly amused at his own cleverness. “ _Literally._ ”

 


	18. Chapter 18

Jack felt for a pulse in the Commander’s neck. It was strong and leapt under his fingertips. He took an indulgent moment to gaze at the face that belonged to the two men who had devastated his life in their own unique ways. Thick black hair. Hooded eyes over jutting cheekbones. Pink lips that uttered lies and orders with equal sincerity. 

“Did you get the plates on that truck that hit me?” The Commander asked, his hazel eyes blearily blinked. Jack helped him sit up, braced him against a tree. He glanced down at Jack’s nudity and averted his eyes. “So we can safely say that he was playing with me the whole time, wasn’t he?” 

 “He completely recovered from getting stabbed in the neck in _hours_. As long as we’re amusing then he’ll keep us alive. But I think he’s hungry.” Jack pointed at his nose. “Broke this with a flick of his finger. I’m lucky he didn’t dislocate my hips or fracture my pelvis. Guess he was being polite since it was my first time.” He drew his knees up to his chest. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that.” 

The Commander regarded him quietly. “You know, I thought he’d just hate me because I was hunting him down, but that’s a special kind of crazy right there.” The Commander rubbed his face. “I might need reinforcements to bring him in.” 

Jack snorted, “A whole army. The navy too. Possibly the air force.”

“So I have a twin?” The Commander asked after a moment. 

“An evil twin. He was you, right down to the smirk. But different.”

“How?” 

Jack wriggled his toes in the dirt. “Well, for one thing, he was HYDRA. A double agent. A damned good one too. I feel sorry for anyone who gets in his way on his world.”

“A HYDRA agent saved you?” The Commander blinked.

“Yeah. I guess I reminded him of his husband. My twin. I guess that means that my twin is evil too.” Jack sighed. “He knew all the right things to say. I was such a fool. I believed him. Even Rogers pities me. I can see it in his messed up eyes.” But Rogers was fooled too, so that made the betrayal sting a little less. 

“Rogers is obsessed with you, Commander. He’s got it in his head that you two are meant to be together and he wants to break you.” 

“Better men than him have tried.” 

“No. I mean _break_ you. He stabbed your twin just to get his attention and that’s before he knew anything about the switcheroo.” He was so dirty. Covered in filth. “You’re not safe. You’re never safe around him.” He was never going to get clean.

“Look at me.” The Commander said. Jack ignored him. “Why won’t you look at me, Agent?”

Jack snapped, “I know what you did. I know, okay?” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“I’m not a moron!” Jack pointed at the scar on his chin. “This.” He stabbed his finger at it. “I was on medical leave for a month. And you set it up. Because you found out that I got your favorite snip—“ The Commander reached out and pressed his fingers against Jack’s lips. 

“He can hear everything we say. And it would be a very bad idea to say that name here. Agreed?” Jack nodded and the Commander took his hand away. Jack’s lips felt curiously hot where they had touched. 

“Yeah. But I still know you did it.” 

“Why would I do that to a valuable member of my own hand-picked team?” His brows knit with confusion and Jack stubbornly refused to relent. 

“Retaliation. For getting him removed from the team.” 

“Ah.” The Commander did something so surprising that Jack nearly swallowed his own tongue. He smiled fondly and patted Jack on the shoulder. “You probably won’t believe me, but I should be thanking you.” 

“What?” Jack blinked in shock.

“Well, it’s not fraternization if you’re not working together.When he got taken off the team, then I was free to spend more time with him. We didn’t have much time together, but what we had— what we had was _beautiful_. Just telling the truth. So, yeah. Thank you.” 

“But— but— he was so messed up! He couldn’t say yes to— what I walked in on…” He remembered the locker room and the writhing bodies under the hot water spray. How it made him hard and sick at the same time.

The Commander looked at him evenly, “I didn’t hire anyone to beat you up. I didn’t rape him. We were in love and the fact that we couldn’t be together made him unstable. He needed me. I needed him. And Project Blank Slate was brought in to _fix_ that. It didn’t take and they froze him.” 

He spat out bitterly, “Pierce didn’t approve. Didn’t want it getting out that his hero and a science experiment were together. Didn’t want it getting out that I am bisexual either. The nation wasn’t ready for that, he said. Keep it in your pants, soldier!” He leaned his head back against the tree. “I didn’t want to be the next guest for reprogramming. Hate that stuff. Been there too many times. I used to be able to curse a blue streak. Now it makes me physically sick to say a single profanity.” He clenched his fist tight, took a deep breath and relaxed his fingers as he exhaled. “Hearing other people curse isn’t as bad, but it’s still not pleasant.”

“But it sure fits my squeaky clean image, doesn’t it? _Smile Rumlow. Smile for the world_.” He plastered on a bright cheerful smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “It’s worth it, though. It has to be.” He said with quiet conviction. “It has to be.”

“I— I didn’t know.” Jack stammered, his world view was rocked. He didn’t know what to say, so he said, “I’m sorry.” 

The Commander shrugged. “You didn’t know because I’m very good at being sneaky. You have to be when there’s eyes on you at all times. I just wasn’t good enough for Pierce.” 

“You have something else in common with your twin, I guess. He was so sneaky!” He wasn’t ready to completely forgive, but the burning anger that he had held stoked in his gut, flickered down to embers and ashes. 

“He was married to your twin, huh?” Jack nodded. “Must be nice to live in a world that has that option. I mean, you’re pretty hot stuff.” 

“Commander, really…” Jack rolled his eyes. 

“Call me Brock. Unless that’s what he wanted to be called. Rumlow is fine too. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” 

“I think we’re far past that point.” Then Jack added, “Rumlow.” The name felt strange in his mouth.

“See, that wasn’t so hard.” That smile was soft and the corners of his eyes crinkled fondly. 

“If you didn’t order the attack, who did?” 

Rumlow scratched his chin, the black stubble had flecks of grey in it. “If I had to guess, that seems like something Murphy would pull. He doesn’t like things disrupting the team dynamic and he couldn’t directly go against me. Was he kind to you afterwards? Brought you flowers? Talked to you about forgiveness and made you eat those vegan brownies?” Jack chewed on his lip and nodded. “Yeah. It was Murphy. He always makes brownies when he feels guilty about something, Agent.” 

Jack stuck out his hand, “Call me Jack. But not Jackie. Never call me Jackie.” Rumlow took his hand and shook it. 

He wrinkled his nose and with a twinkle in his eye said, “Jack. Why don’t we mosey on over to the pond and get you cleaned up?” 

“I smell bad, don’t I?” 

“You look like h-e-double-l, Jack.” Rumlow stood up, brushed dirt off of his black pants. “I looted what was left of your landing pad. How do you feel about sarongs? People say that they’re very in style this season.” 

Jack laughed until his belly ached. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Rumlow clapped him on the back. “That’s a good man.” _Man_. Not _boy._ Jack swallowed hard, his mouth was dry. 

“You don’t have toothpaste in your pack, do you?” 

Rumlow winked, “I have breath mints. Always be prepared, right?” 

From across the clearing there was a loud groan of disbelief and disdain.  

“I’d like to make you dinner first.” Rumlow said a bit too loud. “Maybe meet your parents.” The way he grinned in triumph as Rogers groaned again, reminded Jack of Brock. He shook his head and shoved that feeling deep down. “Do you like flowers Jack? Maybe some chocolates? I could write you a poem and play something on my acoustic guitar—” 

A large rock flew through the air and shattered on the tree trunk behind them. They scrambled as Rogers bellowed at the top of his lungs, “God, you are such a fucking _Boy Scout!_ Just get ON with it!”  

 


	19. Chapter 19

 

The water was cold and that made all of the cuts and bruises on Jack’s skin ache, but it felt good to wash off the dried blood and whatever else was clinging to his inner thighs. He shook his head, flinging water drops off in a spray that caught the light. 

“Feel better?” Rumlow asked. 

“Yeah. You don’t have to do that.” Jack scrubbed at his teeth with the pad of his finger and spat. 

“Do what?” 

“Pretend to be all concerned for me. It’s cool. I’m fine.” 

“Hey Jack?” Rumlow stared at him and Jack squirmed under his gaze.

“Yeah?” 

“Do you know what you have carved into your skin?” Rumlow let some sand fall through his fingers.

“I’m just glad they’ve magically scabbed over. A couple of stars and I dunno. Haven’t had a mirror.” He’d thought about tattoos and body mods but now… now he had battle scars. It wasn't as if he'd been a looker to start with. 

Rumlow ran his hand through his thick black hair. “ _My name_. You’ve got my name in my handwriting cut into your skin. So please don’t tell me that I don’t have to be concerned.” 

Jack craned his neck, tried to see. “I guess he wanted to make sure he wasn’t forgotten.” Like he ever could forget those heady days in the cabin or the shock of his betrayal. Some things stayed with you for a lifetime.

Rumlow picked up another handful of sand. “Or to tell everyone that you belonged to him.” 

Jack sighed. “I did. Just a little bit, I guess.” He couldn’t help the tiny bitter smile on his lips. 

Rumlow blinked, “That good huh?” 

“Yeah.” Jack stepped out of the water. Drops clung to his beard and he gazed out at the horizon, lost for a moment in his memories. He knotted the blood spattered sheet about his hips. “Pretty amazing when he wasn’t lying through his teeth.”

Rumlow stood next to him, he was a few inches shorter than Jack. He looked up and scratched his chin in thought. “Well, I’ve got a lot to live up to then. So, I was thinking that I should stay dressed in my gear because the transport takes a fraction of a second. I’ll stow your coverup. Hmm…” He took Jack’s hand and held it for a few moments, then unknotted the fabric from Jack’s hips. He tucked it in his belt, secured it and looked up at Jack through his eyelashes. 

“What are you doing?” Jack asked, his pulse thundering in his ears. Was this really going to happen? 

Rumlow spoke to him in a soft, patient tone. “I’m thinking that you should stand right there. And I should kneel right here, because the sand is soft and my knees are complainers.” He sank to his knees. He wetted his lips and looked at Jack’s slowly swelling cock inches in front of his face. “Yes, that seems to be optimal. So, Jack. May I?” 

Jack fought for words, but none came out. He reached out and put his fingers in that soft black hair out of sheer impulse. It was sleek and strong, the other Brock never let him do this… Rumlow gasped and leaned into his touch. Jack’s big fingers flexed and gently tugged on Rumlow’s hair. Rumlow’s mouth fell open and he waited, _waited_ for Jack to guide his head. 

Jack could barely comprehend what was happening. All he knew was in that moment the man kneeling in front of him wanted Jack to take control. The power thrilled up his spine, made his heart pound with newfound excitement. “May you do _what_?” he growled because he didn’t want his voice to crack. 

“May I suck…?” Jack rubbed his thumb over Rumlow’s lower lip and his CO lapped at it with quick cat-like strokes of his tongue. Jack swallowed hard and felt his cock rapidly thicken. 

“Suck what? Is cock a filthy word? Does it make you sick to say that?” Rumlow grimaced and nodded. “Oh. Well, since you can’t say what you want, then you better show me.” He couldn’t resist and added a bit viciously, “ _Commander_.”

Rumlow lunged forward and Jack threw back his head at the sheer pleasure of that well-practiced tongue and eager throat. He knew which of the two Brocks was better at giving head now. Spit dribbled out of the corners of Rumlow’s mouth, collected in his stubble and gleamed. 

“Oh, god.” Jack whimpered, his vision going white with pleasure. No! It was the the glow from his tattoo. Rumlow clutched at his buttocks with both hands, sucking on his cock with sloppy lips and wild abandon. He was so close, so close. 

He heard Rogers chanting nonsense words and hands clamped on his shoulders, a huge body pressed up against him, but it didn’t matter, all that mattered was the pleasure and he felt himself tipping over the edge—

 

They landed in a tangle of limbs in a pile of carefully raked leaves. It was an ordinary city street. The signs were in English and Jack thought he recognized the neighborhood. He was still butt-naked, his cock limp and sticky against his thigh. 

He glanced at Rumlow, who wiped his mouth and chin with the back of his hand as he crouched warily. Rogers imitated his posture and scanned the area for any signs of a threat. 

“Are— are we home?” Jack asked, he took the sheet from Rumlow’s belt and covered himself. 

Rumlow gestured for silence and motioned for Jack to take cover behind a parked car. The other men joined him. Rumlow put an earpiece in and listened to the frequency. 

Rogers squinted. “Something doesn’t _smell_ right.” Then he punched in the side window of the car. He pulled out a gym bag from the backseat and tossed it at Jack. “Get dressed.”

“I’m not getting anything on any SHIELD channel. That’s not good.” Rumlow pocketed the earpiece. “So why don’t we try to not destroy anymore property until we know where we landed.”

In response, Rogers took out his knife and stabbed the tire behind him. Air hissed out as Rogers smiled tight-lipped at them. “Okay then. Let’s just get caught and experimented on instead. That should be fun.”

Jack dug through the duffel bag of clean gym clothes. The owner was about his size, but the sweatshirt rode up and showed off his navel. It felt good to have clothes on even if they were tight. There was a bottle of pills in the bag, he glanced at them. “Huh. _Heat suppressants_. What do you think that means? Maybe they had a dog?” He put on the pink flip-flop sandals.

Rogers rubbed his nose so hard it turned red. “There’s too many dogs on this world. The air reeks of them.” 

“Back to the matter at hand, I’ll stash the questionable parts of my gear in the bag so no one calls the police. You better cover up that deaths head too, unless you want to part ways.” Rumlow said mildly. “Not that it hasn’t been fun.”

“I thought you wanted to make an example of me. Bring me to justice.” Rogers sneered. “I haven’t really been the focus of your attentions at all.” He tapped the HYDRA logo and it darkened to all black. 

“Are you jealous?” Rumlow asked and Jack had the sudden urge to run away screaming. 

Rogers huffed, his nose was really bothering him. “No. I’ll kill you both later and bathe in your entrails.” 

“You say the sweetest things. Really. Ever considered writing greeting cards?” Rumlow began divesting himself of his holsters and weapons until he looked as normal as a supermodel in a tight black t-shirt could. “Now let’s go find a library and see where we dropped. Because if we need to get out of here?” He glanced at Jack.

“I’m gonna need at least half an hour to recover from that.” Jack grinned and blushed red as Rumlow patted his leg. “Just telling the truth.” 

Rogers grimaced and rubbed at his nose again in exasperation. “You can recon all you like, but I know this place is _wrong._ Something is off and I'm not leaving you two until I get home. Then I'll--” He sneezed, destroying the malice of his threat. "You know what I'll do. And I know where your parents live too, Jack. _Just telling the truth_." He finished quietly and Jack swallowed hard. He would be utterly stupid to underestimate this monster.

They moved out with Rumlow at point and Rollins at the rear. Jack tugged at his sweatshirt. The loopy pink script on the sweatshirt read " _Omegas Do It Better_ ". 

  

 


	20. Chapter 20

The three men huddled about a monitor and Rumlow spoke quietly, “Well, Jack, you are a model citizen who campaigns for gun reform and volunteers to read to kids at the local elementary school.”He clicked again. “Steven Grant Rogers died of natural causes in 1943. And Brock Rumlow…” He trailed off. “Huh. Well look at that.” 

Rogers pushed his head in front of the monitor. “You’re a Senator.” Rumlow shrugged modestly. He looked good in a fancy suit with grey patches on his temples. “There’s no SHIELD and no HYDRA.” Rogers wrinkled his nose, his eyes were red and irritated. 

“There wasn’t even a war as far as I can tell. This doesn’t seem like a bad world.” 

“It still stinks.” Rogers sneezed and someone shushed him. Rogers stood, turned slowly on his heel and stared daggers at the shusher.  

The old woman returned his stare and Jack had a premonition of very bad things to come. He risked tapping Rogers on the back of the hand. “We need some money. For food. You want to eat, don’t you?” That got Rogers’ attention. He licked his lips. “Without killing anyone.” Jack specified. 

Rogers rolled his eyes and made a rude noise. “Pfft. Leave it to me. I’m the only competent person in this group.” 

“Hey, hey now.” Rumlow tapped on the screen and beamed. “I’m a Senator.”  

Rogers left the room, grumbling something about killing people if he wanted to and Jack stood up to follow him. “Shouldn’t we go with him?” 

Rumlow tapped on the keyboard, “And stop him from doing _what_ exactly? You go. He can’t hurt you too bad if he wants to get out of here. I just… I just want to look up one more name.” 

“Pierce?” Jack asked, confused. 

Rumlow shook his head. “Well, maybe two names. I’ll catch up with you. Meet by that fountain out front.” 

“What if you can’t find us?” 

“I’ll listen for the screams.” Rumlow set his jaw, stubbornly. 

That wasn’t particularly heroic, Jack thought as he tugged the shiny silver nylon gym shorts out of his asscrack. These were girl shorts. They had to be. He was prancing about an alternate world in  _girl shorts_. If he had to babysit Rogers they were buying him some new clothes. 

“Wait! Wait up!” Jack finally caught up to Rogers at the end of the block, he rested his hands on his knees and caught his breath. 

“Took you long enough!” Rogers yelled impatiently. “You weren’t top of your class were you, son?” People stopped and stared at him before moving along. There were so many same sex couples strolling along the plaza, holding hands and chatting. It was surreal outside of a Pride parade. 

“What are you planning?” 

Rogers put his arm around Jack’s shoulders as if they were one of the happy couples and pointed at the crowd across the street waiting in line for a play. “I figure I stab the last person in that line and when panic sets in, I slink around and steal the till. How about that, sport?” He squeezed jovially and laughed. 

“No killing.” Jack struggled against his grip. “No killing.” 

“I’m not killing anyone. Just ventilating them a little. They won’t feel a thing when I paralyze them.” Rogers grinned at him with sharp white teeth. “Doesn’t that sound like fun?” 

“If you hurt anyone, you’ll never leave this place.” Jack gritted his teeth as Rogers’ fingers dug painfully into his arm. “I’ll make sure of that.” 

“Aww. You’re such a little hero. Now I’m going to tell you my real plan. My blade is only going to gut an ATM. For now.” Rogers smirked and pinched Jack’s cheek. That was going to leave a bruise. 

“Oh. What about cameras?” 

“Optical camouflage cloak. Don’t you wish you’d checked all of my pockets when you had the chance?” Rogers released Jack from his grasp and slapped him on the ass. “Love the outfit, Peaches.” Jack flushed brilliant red. He tried to rub feeling back into his numb buttcheek. 

As Rogers confidently strode off across the plaza, a young woman approached Jack. She had blonde hair and a serious expression. “Excuse me, I know it’s none of my business, but he shouldn’t treat you like that. You don’t deserve that.”

The sweatshirt felt suddenly too tight and short and Jack tried to pull it down. “I don’t— I’m fine.” He looked about him for an exit. 

She nodded and extended a card. Jack didn’t take it, so she took his hand softly and smiled. “My name is Sharon.” She folded his fingers around the card. 

“The Alphas say that the pair bond gives them the right to treat us any way they want to. But we’re people, not possessions. I know it is the scariest thing in the world to say no to your Alpha, but I want you to know you’re not alone.” 

“He’s not my… _Alpha_.” The word felt strange in his mouth. The card read _Omega Support Society._  

 “He thinks he is. And that’s enough for them. Call the number. You have friends.” She startled as Rogers glided up behind her and pushed past as if she didn’t exist.  

“Hey, baby.” He scooped Jack up his arms and effortlessly dipped him back. “Gimme some sugar.” Jack almost gagged on Rogers’ tongue as he kissed him sloppily. He slapped limply against the arms that pinned him in place, he felt his whole body flush red with embarrassment. 

When Rogers finally came up for air, Jack’s knees felt weak and watery. His lips were swollen and ached from teeth scraping against them. 

Sharon said, “Please think about what I said,” then she walked away, her hands shoved in her pockets. She looked back at them, sadness in her eyes. 

“What was that about?” Rogers asked, not particularly interested, he was counting a fat stack of cash. Flaunting it. God help the robber who tried to mug Captain HYDRA. 

Jack touched his bitten lip and winced. “She thought you were a controlling abusive dickwad.” 

“Not a very good judge of character, was she? I don’t want to hurt you Jack.” Rogers sighed. “It’s just that sometimes… Sometimes you just don’t listen and I have to hurt you to get your attention. You understand, right? You’re a good boy deep down inside. I just have to work so hard at making sure that you follow orders.” 

Jack stared flatly at him. “You’re paying for dinner. We’re meeting up by the fountain.” 

“A double date then. I haven’t been on one of those since 1942.” Rogers held out his arm gallantly. “Take my arm.” 

“No.” Jack refused. 

“Take my arm, Jack.” Rogers repeated, a gleam in his eye.

“No.” Jack tried to walk away, but Rogers seized him about the wrist. Jack stumbled at the pain of his wrist bones grinding together. 

“Take my fucking arm, Jack or I’ll rip yours off.” He released Jack’s wrist and Jack took Rogers’ arm. The bastard smiled in satisfaction and patted Jack’s hand. “That’s a good boy.” 

Rumlow was seated at the fountain and he shoved a piece of paper in his pocket. “Get some cash?” Jack nodded. “Anyone die?” Jack shook his head. “Anything broken?” 

“Not yet.” Rogers smiled and Jack wondered, not for the first time that day, where he had gone wrong in life.  

 

 


	21. Chapter 21

 

They sat at a greasy spoon diner where the portions were huge and filling. Rumlow glanced at the stolen money before Rogers secreted it away. “Impressive.”

Jack raised an eyebrow as the way Rogers preened at that small praise. _Huh_. For an uncomfortable moment he was reminded of how hard he got when Brock had praised him.

“First, we eat. Then we head over to that store and get supplies. Water. Protein bars. Duct tape. And some clothes for Jack.” Rumlow glanced at the bedazzled shirt.

Jack licked the maple syrup off his fork. “Someone already tried to stage an intervention for me. I got a card and everything.” It was kinda sweet in retrospect.

Rumlow continued, “Then we find a room. Some place three men can bunk without raising too many eyebrows.”

More butter on his fluffy pancakes. This world’s food was delicious. Well, anything would be delicious after not eating for a few days. Still the pancakes were sweet and tender, melting upon his tongue. Good enough for Jack to ignore Rogers’ hand on his knee under the table. “In this world, that’s not going to be a problem. Being gay isn’t an issue here for some reason.”

“People are staring at our table right now.” Rogers took a drink of his milk and squeezed the inside of Jack’s thigh. What the fuck was he doing? Trying to get a rise out of Rumlow? Make him jealous? _Oh God_ , Jack prayed, _please don’t let that bastard have a crush._

“People are only staring because you both look like male models. And I look like rough trade that got thrown under a bus and bedazzled.” Rumlow almost snorted coffee through his nose. 

“I like the way you look.” Rogers said mildly and finished his triple order of scrambled eggs and plain toast. 

Jack glared and pointed at his battered face with his fork. Two black eyes and a swollen nose. “That’s because _you_ did this to me.”

Rogers shrugged. “True.”

Rumlow stood up to go pay the bill and Rogers leaned over and buried his nose in Jack’s hair. He took several long, slow sniffs and sagged against Jack’s body in apparent relief. Now people were really staring.

“What are you doing?” Jack blushed up to his hairline.

“Shut up.” Rogers growled against the tender skin behind his ear, “I hate the way this world smells.”

“You, of all people, don’t get snuggles. Not after what you’ve done to me. Quit being gross.” Jack tried to dislodge Rogers’ grasp, but Rogers wasn’t paying attention.

His voice was dreamy and far away, “This place’s scent is overwhelming. I can smell each individual in this diner and all of them are screaming for attention. If I can’t focus, if I can’t make myself focus… I don’t know what I’ll do, _Jack_.” His fingers hooked into claws against Jack’s inner thigh, the nails raked against the skin.

Jack winced. “Okay? Sniff away?” Rogers made a huffing sound of contentment and cradled Jack’s bearded face in his hand. Jack looked at the ceiling and thought about maple syrup, bacon and long car trips.

Rumlow came back to the table and blinked as he took in the situation. He waved his hand in dismissal. “I’m not even going to ask. Okay, I’ve made a list. Take a look.” He handed the scribbled napkin to Jack.

Jack sighed, “Two bottles of lube. _Thanks_. I guess.”

Rumlow had the good grace to look embarrassed. Jack might as well be what he looked like right now. “Always be prepared, right?”

Rogers sneezed wetly against Jack’s neck.

 

The motel was run down from years of use and accumulated neglect. The brownish carpets crunched underfoot and the decor was spartan. It was one of the most beautiful things Jack had ever seen. Until he noticed the obvious. “Only two beds.”

Rumlow started packing a second duffle bag, dividing up the supplies so that if they lost one bag they wouldn’t be completely screwed. “We’ll sleep in shifts. Keep an eye on Rogers.”

The supersoldier sat on the edge of one of the beds and stretched out his legs, spreading them wide. “Like either of you could stop me.” He leaned back and grimaced at the stained coverlet under his fingers.

“I could stop you.” Rumlow said as he finished the duffel packing.

For a moment, Jack forgot to breath as Rogers and Rumlow stared at each other. Two skilled killers with years of training sized each other up and eventually Rogers smiled. “You’re so cute when you’re being stupid.”

Rumlow threw a blue t-shirt, plain grey sweatpants and slip on cheap canvas shoes at Jack, who gratefully snagged them out of the air. He wouldn’t change until after he showered, clean clothes were wasted on these sheets.

“I call dibs on the first sleep shift, then I get a shower.” Jack announced as he crawled into the bed furthest from the tv. The two other men bickered about things and Jack’s eyes grew sluggish and heavy.

“What am I going to do to pass the time?” Rogers whined.

“I dunno. Do a crossword? Needlepoint? Check out the porn box?” Rumlow countered.

“Pornography. Really, Commander?” _Murder was fun! Rape was a hobby! Porn? Now wait a moment, son._ “Not what I expected from you. I’m disappointed.” For a mass-murdering psychopathic rapist, Rogers could be scathingly judgmental when he wanted to.

“Look. If you truly want to understand a culture, then you must watch its pornography.” Jack hid a smile in the pillowcase, he was a face-sleeper.

“ _The Alpha In Charge. Slutty Slippery Omegas in Heat. Knotty Fun._ Oh come on, live a little. You’ve seen porn before, haven’t you?” His tone was playful, teasing.

“Of course I have! Tijuana bibles and risque postcards.” Rogers said indignantly.

“Welcome to the age of high definition and closeups. I gotta say this tv really sucks. Now on my set up at home, you can see everything. Every little mole and bad tattoo.” Rumlow was bragging about his porn collection. That was something that didn’t get put in the magazine profiles. 

“Just pick something and stop smirking or I’ll rip your lips off.” Rogers threatened and Rumlow made a kissy sound. Jack grabbed the other pillow and put it over his head.

He dozed until Rogers said in horror,“OH MY GOD.” 

“I know, right?” Rumlow seemed fascinated.

“How are they _doing_ that? That is an abomination of Nature’s Laws!”

Jack was almost curious enough to glance at the screen but then he heard Rumlow say, “So that must be the Alpha and… _wow_. Is that infected? How does it get that big?”

“Shut it off. Shut it off right now.”

“Now hold on. Let’s see if this is better. You like girls too, don’t you?”

“I like anything that can scream." A long pause. "That is NO better.” Rogers sneezed again. “I hate this place.”

“There is one good thing about this place. The self-lubricating buttholes.” That sounded horrifying, yet  _convenient._

Begrudgingly, Rogers agreed. “That could be handy. But blood works just fine too.” Jack dug his fingers into the bedding and tried not to remember Rogers pounding deep inside of him.

“You are such a piece of shi—“ Rumlow swallowed back the obscenity. “Okay, one more.”

“You’re enjoying this.” Rogers accused.

“I am not.”

“You are enjoying my discomfort. You don’t know how disorienting and disgusting this world smells with all those sex hormones wafting about. These people are nothing better than animals! You two are the only normal smelling people I have encountered!”

“It can’t be that bad. I mean, you are the pinnacle of human development, right?”

“It is as if someone has poured acid into my sinuses.” Rogers paused for a beat, “That’s actually a very effective way to kill someone, it simply eats through the mucosal tissues and into the brain— but that’s not the point.”

“So you want to leave.”

“Do you want to stay?”

“No. I did more research. There’s nothing I want here. And I can’t live in a world that elected Pierce to two consecutive terms as President.” There was an uncomfortable silence.

“I thought you were Pierce’s lapdog.”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me. So, do you want to blow him or should I?” Rumlow asked bluntly.

“Let him sleep.” Rogers stretched out on the bed beside Jack. “Do you talk in your sleep Commander?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

Fingers stroked Jack’s hair, delicate and tender. “That’s such a pity. You can learn so much about a person by what they say in the wee small hours of the night. This one calls for you. Well, not _you_. Your twin. Your conniving doppelgänger. He whimpers out your name even as he knows that you will never love him. It’s pathetic, but I understand.”

“Why are you telling me that?”

“Because we were made for each other. You and I are two sides of the same shiny coin. One day, you’ll admit this truth and come crawling to me. And I will make you feel complete. Good night Commander.” Jack felt hot breath on the back of his neck. “Pleasant dreams.” Rogers curled up against Jack, his cold hand possessively on Jack’s bare waist where the sweatshirt had ridden up.

Many minutes later, Jack hazarded a glance over at Rumlow. He was staring at a piece of crumpled paper while buttocks thrust on the muted television screen behind him. His shoulders shook and Jack closed his eyes.

It wasn’t right to watch a man cry.


	22. Chapter 22

Jack slipped out of the bed, Rogers was snorting in his sleep right in Jack’s ear. Still, Jack felt better than he had in days. _Days_. It had only been days since his life changed in the most bizarre way possible.

He looked at his reflection in the chipped mirror. The swelling was going down around his nose but his two black eyes made him look like he’d gone a few rounds with a prizefighter and lost. He needed a beard trim too, it was overgrown and spiky in patches.

The sweatshirt and shorts landed in a pile on the linoleum. Jack took a deep breath and looked over his shoulder at the wounds on his back skin. The stars were scabbed over and he winced when he pulled on the skin to get a better look. That was Rogers’ handiwork. They were almost artistic in symmetry. 

He bit his lip. And there was Brock Rumlow’s name sliced into his flank. Of all the things in the world he could incised into Jack’s skin, his _name_. That would heal, probably scar a little bit, nowhere near as badly as the stars. But Jack knew it would always be there, even after time tried to erase it. Jack turned on the shower. Steam clouded his reflection and Jack closed his eyes as he stepped into the spray.

He wasn’t surprised when the bathroom door opened and shut. “Look, wait until after I shower to piss. Thanks.” He had soap in his hair, his eyes tightly closed. Someone stepped into the shower with him, hands clasped upon his hips. “God fucking damn it Rogers! Can’t I even fucking shower alone?” Jack shoved his face under the water and wiped his eyes.

It wasn’t Rogers. Rumlow leaned his head against the tile of the shower stall, he looked utterly nauseated. He held up a warning finger. “First of all, you’re using all the hot water. Second, _language_. And shove over.”

“You could have waited too.” Jack grumbled and stepped out of the bathtub. He glanced at Rumlow’s body. It was just like the centerfold in the Men of SHIELD charity calendar. Jack had two copies. It was for _charity_ , he had justified to himself at the time. Rumlow raised his eyebrow at Jack’s inspection and Jack looked away with red cheeks. 

“Think about it. You have the tattoo.” Rumlow soaped his armpits. “He has the words.” He rinsed off and soaped his groin, Jack didn’t watch. He buried his face in a scratchy white towel instead. “It’s not in my best interest to let the two of you be alone.”

“I wouldn’t be able to _perform_. Not with him.”

“Why do you think he’s being so touchie-feelie with you? Giving you tiny compliments? Little crumbs of basic human decency? He’s breaking down your guard. Getting you used to him. Grooming you. If he was less of a sociopath…” Rumlow shrugged. “I mean, look at him. He’s got the body of a Greek god or a porn star.”

Jack grimaced. “A few days ago he cut me up, raped me, broke my nose and dislocated my shoulder. So I don’t think Stockholm Syndrome is setting in anytime soon.”

“It’s only normal to become attached to someone you’re trapped with. I’ve seen it happen. It can go both ways.” Rumlow dried his ridiculously thick hair with a towel. “One day you’re trying to kill ‘em and the next you’re kissing up against a brick wall in a battle zone. It’s messed up, but it happens.”

“You sound like you speak from experience.”

“That’s a story for another time. Is that what my twin did to you?” Rumlow wrapped his towel around his waist.

The air was too heavy with steam and the bathroom was claustrophobically small, Jack didn’t feel like confessing anything. “That’s a story for another time too.”

“Fair enough. We’re going to get home. We are.”

Jack cleaned the steam off of a corner of the mirror and touched the scar on his chin. “And then I’m punching Murphy right in his vegan teeth.”

“Go easy on Murph.” Rumlow said quietly.

“Why?” Jack blinked. “He set me up. Forty-five stitches Commander.” 

Rumlow averted his eyes and reached for the door handle. “Just— try not to hate him. People do a lot of things they later regret. Sometimes they don’t even remember doing them.”

“What do you regret, Commander?” Jack asked out of curiosity.

Rumlow whispered, “Damn near everything.” Then he brightened as if a switch had been thrown and clapped Jack on the arm. “I’m joking. Really.”

 

“So. We’ve got the bags, everyone is clean and geared up.” Rumlow gestured at the bags. One was looped over his shoulder, the other was hoisted by Rogers. Jack was sitting on the end of a bed.

“Indeed.” Rogers agreed.

“You’re all sure that you don’t want to stay here?” There were no protests. Rogers rubbed his nose on the back of his hand. “Okay then, I will assume the position.” He knelt in front of Jack.

“That’s probably the least erotic thing anyone has said to me.” Jack muttered. “Today. I’m sure you’ll come up with something incredibly creepy later.” He frowned at the obviously impatient Rogers. 

Rumlow pulled his sweatpants down Jack’s thighs. “I’ll make it up to you.” Then his warm, wet mouth set to work coaxing up an erection. Which did not appear after several minutes of vigorous, sloppy attention.

Rogers said, “Problems?” He tapped his fingers on his armored bicep.

Rumlow let Jack’s flaccid cock pop out of his mouth. He had drool running down his chin. “Performance anxiety.” He patted Jack’s thigh fondly with patience and understanding. That made the whole thing so much _worse._

“Bah.” Rogers cut off a stripe of the top sheet with quick strokes and before Jack could protest, bound it around Jack’s eyes. “There. Now you can concentrate. On anyone you like.”

“I still know you’re there. Watching.” Jack stabbed a finger in Rogers’ general direction.

“Until we return home, Jack Rollins, I will always be with you.” _Uh oh, his full name._ He was in trouble.

“That’s the problem,” Jack huffed. Rumlow returned to his chore. Nothing. Nada. Limper than overcooked linguine.

Rogers sighed in exasperation. “Do I have to do everything?” And a different mouth, a much cooler mouth replaced Rumlow’s. Behind the blindfold, Jack’s eye widened in shock and his own mouth fell open. Rogers’ tongue was incredibly strong, just like the rest of him, but his throat clutched upon Jack’s cock like a wet velvet glove. Jack wound his fingers in Rogers’ hair as he violently thrust up into that wetness. He wanted to violate the man who had violated him. He wanted to hurt and humiliate Rogers, make him understand what it was like to be at the mercy of another.

“Jesus. Don’t you have a gag reflex?” Rumlow uttered in awe, the blinding light seeping in beneath the edges of the blindfold. Rumlow must have taken over just as Jack was at the brink of orgasm, because Rogers chanted the Asgardian phrase and then they were falling… falling…

 

Jack landed with a thud. He pulled his sweatpants' waistband up over his dick and looked about. They were on a rooftop. The other men were already scanning the area, Rumlow had his hand on a shock stick in his holster and Rogers had his blade in hand.

“Smells right.” Rogers said. “Nothing weird in the air. Can feel my sinuses clearing already.”

Rumlow shook his head, “It’s too quiet.”

A siren blared. Rogers groaned and mashed his face with his hand, “Great. Let me tell you something about sirens, boys. Nothing good _ever_ follows one of those. _Nothing._ ” He squinted at the sky. “God damned bombers.”

A pleasant woman’s voice blasted over the loudspeakers that were mounted on every street corner.“Emergency Announcement: This is your Emergency Broadcast System announcing the commencement of the Annual Purge. All crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 hours. All emergency services will be suspended. Your government thanks you for your participation."

A huge smile spread over Rogers’ face, he lit up with boyish joy. “I take it back! I was _wrong!_ ”


	23. Chapter 23

The smile vanished from Rogers’ face as a bullet smacked right between his shoulder blades. His armored tactical suit absorbed most of the blow, but the force still knocked him to one knee. Rumlow and Jack scrambled for cover, trying to spot the sniper’s perch. Rogers slowly rose up and stared back along the bullet’s path. He looked _annoyed_ and his pink lips curled in a sneer as he took a few steps backward and fell off the edge of the parapet.

“Jesus Christ!” Jack gasped and tried to see if Rogers was a splattered mess on the asphalt below without exposing his head to the sniper. “I can’t see!”

“That stupid motherfu—“ Rumlow almost completed the curse. “We need him!” A bullet slammed into the brick above his head.

“Good thing this guy sucks.” Jack muttered. “We were sitting ducks, silhouetted.”

“Well they probably only practice once a year. What kind of fu— messed up world is this? And how did we get lucky enough to drop in on this night of all nights?”

“I’ve decided that the universe really hates Jack Rollins. It’s just easier to deal with everything if I think about it like that.” A bullet zinged off a steel pipe above their heads. “So we stay here all night?”

“Until they get bored and change position and pick us off. So yeah.” Rumlow smiled, tightlipped in the dark. The city echoed with screams and gunfire.

“Gentlemen.” Rogers announced his presence. “I brought presents.” In one hand he held a sniper rifle and scope, a real beauty, a duffel full of ammo over his shoulder. In the other hand was the sniper’s throat. He shook the bloody, terrified man like a terrier with a rat between its jaws. He clutched at Rogers’ arm, clawed at it while he gasped for breath.

“Rogers.” Rumlow said soothingly, “Put the man down.”

Rogers smiled cheerfully. “Yes _sir_.” Then he heaved the sniper over the edge of the rooftop. Jack heard the impact. He didn’t look. “See, I follow orders occasionally.” He held out the rifle to Jack. “I remember from your file that you know how to use one of these.” There was blood spattered on the rifle butt.

“You didn’t have to kill him.” Rumlow said dispassionately. He inventoried the duffel bag and made a noise of approval at the weapons he recovered. 

There were tally marks scratched into the rifle guard. Jack made a face. Only seven. _What a loser_. He found a perch, set the tripod and adjusted the scope. It was a beautiful gun, not quite STRIKE quality but very close. He sighed happily at the feel of steel in his fingers, braced against his healthy shoulder and Rogers leaned down next to his ear. “You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t say thank you.” Jack fiddled with the scope.

“Sure you didn’t. Well boys, I’m off to do my civic duty. This is a state sanctioned slaughter after all and I haven’t been a law-abiding citizen for decades.” He shivered theatrically. “I actually feel patriotic. Feels _tingly_.”

“So you want to stay here, do you?” Rumlow frowned.

“You look fetching by the light of those arson fires, my dear. Let’s enjoy ourselves. Rid this place of some of the scum who wish to participate in this pageant of destruction.”

“Doesn’t that make us scum too?” Jack saw a school bus full of degenerates open fire on a group of other degenerates.

“It makes us _party-crashers_.” Rogers tucked a pistol into his holster. “Rendezvous here in twelve hours. And Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“Get ready for me darling, I’m going to work up such an appetite when I get back.” Rogers smacked Jack on the ass, then with a running start, leapt onto the neighboring rooftop.

“I could headshot him right now. I’m just saying.” Jack offered. Then Rogers turned on his heel and pointed right at Jack as if to say, _I heard that_. Jack swallowed. “Or not.”

Jack scanned the streets, the destruction and loss of life was stunning. It made him question whether or not these were human beings at all. “Monsters,” he said under his breath.

“Remind me never to tell you my kill count.” Rumlow said darkly. He was watching with a set of binoculars.

“It’s your job. You’re not doing it for shits and giggles.” Rumlow nudged him with his elbow. “Sorry.”

“Yeah. I guess. I haven’t lost sleep over killing people for a very long time. I don’t know why I’m so squeamish now.” He looked behind them for other snipers. “Probably because I’ve missed so many therapy sessions.”

“They make you go to therapy?”

“Three times a week.”

“Huh. I think I got like two sessions after I got beat up, then they were like ‘You’re on your own Agent!’. I guess you rank higher than I do.” Jack saw a flicker of movement down an alley that was intriguing.

“Literally, I outrank you. But I don’t think— I don’t think it was strictly for my mental health.” Rumlow snorted, “I’m just thinking too much. That’s it. Order through pain, dude.”

“What did you just say?” Jack whipped his head up in shock.

“Order through pain? Oh, that’s a mantra they taught me, you repeat it and eventually the words mean nothing but the repetition is soothing, you know? Calms my brain.”

“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that. Commander—“

“Look at that!” Rumlow pointed down and Jack fitted the scope sight against his eye. “Does he look familiar?”

Jack laughed, “He’s got your face alright. I like the coat. And the hair. You should grow it out.” He watched the lookalike lead a small party of civilians down an alley. “Looks like he’s a hero.”

“I know that face and that’s the expression of someone in way over his head, but he’s too stubborn to give up. I see it a lot in the mirror.” Rumlow clicked his tongue. “Handsome brute.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t go down there and cause a paradox by fucking yourself. I’ve seen Back to the Future.” Jack smirked, “Now, I could fuck him just fine. Just sayin’.” He waited for the rebuke for his potty mouth. “Now I know you’re not paying attention to me at all.”

“He’s leading them into an ambush.” Rumlow’s voice was breathy. “They’ll all be killed.”

Jack aimed carefully at the hoodlums poised to strike, “Permission to clear a path?”

“Granted.” Jack squeezed the trigger. A headshot was a headshot on any world. “Listing to the left, need to adjust.” He chambered another round and fired. “There we go.” The rest of the men scattered in fear.

“Nice work.” Rumlow said. “Knew there was a reason I put you on my team.”

“I thought it was my charming personality and good manners.” Jack watched the twin lead the ragged party of survivors to a building, they rapped on the back door and were let inside for safety. Jack exhaled in relief then he caught his breath.

Rogers was stalking the group. He put his hand on the door handle and pulled it off like taffy. Jack chambered a round. He didn’t ask for permission. The safety light beside Rogers’ head exploded into sparks and glass fragments. Jack reloaded. Rogers looked back at him and in a direct challenge, reached for the door again. Jack put a bullet in the keyhole. Rogers flipped off a crisp salute and loped off after other prey.

“I am going to pay for that later, aren’t I?” Jack whispered. “He’s going to bang me like a prom date.”

“Yup. Probably right here on the rooftop.” Rumlow agreed. “Was it worth it?”

“Yeah.” Jack popped out the spent cartridge. “It was. And that’s why we bought two bottles of lube, right?”

“Maybe he’ll be all tuckered out from all the slaughter. Need a nap. And a lullaby.” Rumlow mocked, “Poor wee cranky baby Rogers.”

The two men snickered and Jack sighed dramatically. He took another shot, disabled a dune-buggy with a flamethrower mounted on the dash. It exploded in a ball of orange flame.“ _Pretty_. He’s going to pound me a new one. And there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“I think I can help. Just keep shooting Agent, let’s see how good your aim is.” Rumlow’s hand slipped down beneath his waistband, massaged his ass cheek and fondled his hole with nimble fingers. Jack tried to hide his flushed face in the darkness.

“What are you doing?” Jack asked after swallowing hard.

“Thought I might make things easier for you.” He withdrew his hand. “Sorry.”

“You’re— really good at that.”

“I’ve had lots of practice. Have to loosen up all the muscles, relax. Clenching just hurts. Unless that’s what you like.” Rumlow shrugged. “I kinda just let my mind go until it starts feeling good…” His voice trailed off. “Takes a while sometimes. Like I’m missing something. So I keep practicing.”

Jack shifted his weight off of his hard dick. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve only ever been the catcher.”

“First all don’t call it that… Baseball has no place in sex—“

Jack froze. A well armed team of men in black armor was surrounding the building where Rumlow’s twin had taken refuge. “Look. They’ve got bad company.” There was a battering ram. “Government, bet you anything.”

“So it’s not just the citizens ganging up on each other.” Rumlow put away the binoculars and refilled his ammo. “Pierce would love this world.”

“We’re gonna help, right?” Jack was already arming himself. “I mean, I am.”

“Of course. We’re heroes. I mean that’s what it says on my action figure.” Rumlow grinned in the dark and helped Jack up. They held each other’s gaze for a moment until a scream from the street broke their concentration and they bolted for the fire escape. 

 

 

 

 


	24. Chapter 24

“Who are you shooting at?” Jack asked, the rifle slung over his back, a pistol in his hands. He covered Rumlow’s back as they approached the apartment building. “Just want to make sure we’re on the same page.” He had a radio to communicate if they got separated.

“The guys breaking into apartments in the uniforms of course.” Rumlow adjusted his earpiece. 

“Aren’t they government? The good guys? Like us?”

Rumlow paused to scan the surroundings. “Who said we were always the good guys?”

Jack blinked and then the duo charged into the smoke grenade filled hallway. The troops on the ground floor didn’t fire at Rumlow immediately because one black uniform tended to look like another in the smoke. That was a costly mistake. Rumlow squeezed off half a clip.

Jack followed closely behind. He saw terrified eyes staring out from behind destroyed doors. Whole families lying in pools of blood amidst their memories. This wasn’t right. It didn’t even scratch the surface of _right_.

Rumlow moved like a dark ghost in the hallways, picking off goons before they had a chance to react or sound an alarm. Jack had never been this close during missions, he was always on a perch. He was beyond impressed. Sometimes a legend lived up to their reputation.

Rumlow turned a corner and Jack saw him raise his hands, he dropped his gun. A girl’s voice said in astonishment, “Holy shit!” Rumlow’s eye twitched at the curse. “There’s two of you!”

Jack couldn’t resist. He peered around the corner. Another man with the same face as his Commander. It was a little older, more care-worn, but stubborn determination set his jaw as he aimed at Rumlow’s face. His other arm spread wide as if to shield the small party of women and a wounded man cowering behind him. “Stay back.”

“Long story, too long to tell right now. There are some bad people out there.”

“That’s the theme of the evening!” The girl spat from over the man’s shoulder.

Rumlow smiled with his best ingratiating grin. He'd charmed heads of state and movie stars with that smile. “How about you all get out of here down these stairs and we cover your escape?”

“Why should we believe you?” A blonde woman covered in blood practically screamed. The man she was holding up was in bad shape. His face was pale and shocky. Jack didn't hold out hope for his survival until the morning. 

“We’ve cleared the stairs for one thing,” Rumlow pointed at himself, “And don’t you already trust this face?” He winked at the woman and returned his focus to the man in the black coat. “What’s your name hero?”

It took a moment, but he answered gruffly, “Sergeant Barnes.” He nudged the girl behind him, gently. “Go on. Get moving.”

Rumlow’s mouth opened in surprise and shut with a snap of his teeth. They watched the small group flee down the stairwell. Sergeant Barnes looked back at them with furrowed brows and shook his head in shocked bemusement. 

“You’re going to be hot when you get old.” Jack said in admiration. "Hella cheekbones."

“Getting old isn’t an option in my line of work.” Rumlow picked off a straggler as they followed the group. 

“We should retire then. Find somewhere sunny. Buy a cabana. We could be cabana boys.” The acrid scent of gunpowder and smoke filled Jack’s nose. “Maybe we’ll find a paradise planet next.”

The sound of laughter. Terrifying in the chaos of the deadly night. Someone was laughing on the other side of the alley. There was only one person who found tonight remotely amusing. “Go!” Rumlow ordered Sergeant Barnes, “Do not look back! Do not come back!”

“What about you?” The girl asked, “Come with us!”

Rumlow hissed with deadly intensity, “There are worse things roaming around tonight than thugs with guns. _And we brought him with us_! So RUN!” He shot at their feet to make his point and the ragtag group fled, vaulting over a fence. Sergeant Barnes looked back at them one last time and followed.

Jack let out his breath. He’d been holding it since he’d heard Rogers’ maniacal laughter. “Do you… do you want to know?”

Rumlow reloaded. “Like it or not, he’s our problem. So we have to.”

“Why do you have to be so fucking honorable?” Jack groaned.

“Why do you have to swear like a sailor? Next time we jump I’m getting some soap for that mouth.” Rumlow gestured. “Let’s go retrieve our problem child.” He moved into the shadows.

“I never wanted kids.” Jack grumbled and followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one tonight because two chapters in one day is still pretty awesome.


	25. Chapter 25

“Is that—?” Jack couldn’t even complete his sentence. His brain wouldn’t let him. He’d seen a lot of things on missions, both military and SHIELD, but this _depravity_ made his stomach lurch.

Rumlow exhaled slowly, “That’s a bloodbath.”

Rogers was sitting on what Jack’s mind refused to admit was a pile of corpses. Whole bodies, he could deal with whole bodies. But not _pieces._ Rogers was smiling and giggling while covered in blood from his hairline to his knees. Rogers gestured at his blood-soaked suit, “Don’t worry. Club soda takes out all kinds of stains.” He shifted his weight, a hand flopped out from the pile and Jack noisily puked until his eyes watered. “Aren’t just you _precious_.”

He held up his hand as Rumlow opened his mouth to speak, “And before you ask, _yes_ I had fun. No, I’m not ready to stop.” He counted on his fingers. “I’ve still got at least four more hours to go.”

Rogers tapped his fingertips together, “Getting a little tacky as it clots.” He rubbed his hand clean on a head of hair. “They think they’re wolves hunting their prey. They’re all criminals and wastes of humanity. They came out to wreak havoc and slaughter, but I’m so much better at it. Amateurs. You could convince me to stop.” He looked up at them through his long dark eyelashes from his throne of corpses.

“How?” Rumlow said as Jack wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Be my pets for the rest of the evening and I won’t spill another drop of blood. There’s an apartment on the fourth floor. Abandoned.” He shrugged, “Why don’t we play like civilized men and then enjoy that home cooked meal on the kitchen counter?” He licked his bloody lips. “I’m famished.”

Jack and Rumlow looked at each other. “I’m fucked regardless.” Jack shrugged. “Sorry about the cursing.”

“I don’t think I could feel any sicker than I do right now.” Rumlow breathed. Then his jaw tensed with determination and he gestured. “Move out. Let’s grab our gear and get this over with.”

 

Rumlow dropped his duffel on the living room floor. Jack set his beside it. Rogers shut the door behind them. Jack grabbed the bottle of uncorked wine on the table, he took a giant swig. And another. Then handed it to Rumlow. “See if there’s anything stronger. We’re going to need it.”

“Nobody locks their windows on the fourth floor. Tragic really. I smelled this food and couldn’t resist.” Rogers dragged his hand along the lace tablecloth, streaking it with blood.

“Did you kill them?” Rumlow asked as he stared down at the carefully prepared meal on the kitchen island. Casseroles, bread and a baked chicken still faintly steamed.

“I asked them to leave. And they did. Quite intelligent of them.” Rogers beckoned, “Come with me Jack. We’re going to see if we can find a little peace and quiet. Get to know each other like gentlemen. Our own little  _Project Insight._ ” He put a strange emphasis on the stupid pun and half-dragged Jack into the bathroom, leaving Rumlow behind.

“Jaaaaaack.” Rogers crooned. “Draw me a bath.”

Jack bent over and turned on the tap, Rogers kicked at the backs of his knees. Jack smacked his elbows hard on the edge of the tub.“On your knees. It’s like you’ve never serviced anyone before, son.”

Jack rubbed his smarting elbow, looked up at Rogers with murder in his eyes. Rogers patted his cheek with blood-soaked fingers. “ _Defiance_. That’s so cute. You don’t want me to start killing people again, do you? There’s this nice old couple next door and they look so awfully fragile.”

Jack knelt on the bathmat and contemplated drowning himself in the tub. It wouldn’t be a bad way to go…

“Bubbles.” Rogers ordered imperiously and Jack poured a capful of Mr. Sudsy under the tap. Bubbles billowed up in a white foamy cloud. “Test it.”

Jack stuck his hand in and pulled it back out before he was scalded. “Too hot.”

“Then it’s just right. I’m never warm enough.” Rogers rested his fingers on the back of Jack’s neck. “Are my fingers cold, Jack?”

“Like ice cubes.” That wasn’t why he shivered though. Jack swallowed down his disgust at himself. This was all Rogers’ fault. He was getting conditioned by the sadistic monster. For a moment, Brock’s face and Rogers’ blended together and Jack shut his eyes tight. _Monsters._

“Imagine them on your nipples. Under the head of your cock.” Oh god help him, he could imagine that. The cold fingers stroking the nape of his neck, touching him possessively, that simple act made Jack’s heart pound.

He wrinkled his nose and spat out, “You smell like death.” He wasn’t going to be Rogers’ little toy. No. He had more self-respect than that.

“Undress me.” Jack reached over for the zipper on the tactical suit’s torso. “No. Start with the boots.”

The laces were covered in a soft mush. “This is disgusting.” Jack made quick work of the laces and Rogers’ slid out his feet.

“It’s just a little brain matter.” Jack gagged, thrust his hands into the steaming hot, soapy water and held them there as long as he could. “Unzip me.” Jack obliged and Rogers smiled at his expediency. “Good boy.” He shrugged out of his gear, pulled his pants down his legs and stepped into the water.

With a long, indulgent sigh he ordered, “Wash my hair and if you get soap in my eyes I’ll beat you silly.”

It was a bizarrely intimate activity, washing another man’s hair. Rogers’ hair was soft and the shampoo smelled of lavender. “Weren’t you going to do that anyway?”

“Only if you begged for it.” Rogers had his eyes lightly shut, luxuriating in the heat and Jack’s fingers rubbing on his scalp. “The Commander will.” He said with utter confidence.

“You need to rinse off, there’s too much blood in the water.” It looked like a vat of fruit punch, gobs of flesh floating along with the bubbles. He grabbed a washrag from the towel rack. “There’s even blood in your ears…” He scrubbed the grime from Rogers’ face and neck, he bit his lip in concentration. If he was going to get fucked, the blood of innocents wasn’t getting on his skin.

“Jack, who is the most dangerous person in this world?” Rogers leaned into the scrubbing motions, practically purring with contentment.

It was a trick question, of course. “You.” Jack knew the only thing bigger than Rogers’ dick was his ego. He liked _both_ things to be stroked. A tiny dip of his head in agreement meant that Jack had guessed correctly.

“So all you have to do is please me and you’re perfectly safe. You’re the safest person on this world right now.” The super-soldier curled his hand and cupped Jack’s jaw. He stroked Jack’s beard with his thumb. “I like your beard Jack. Mine doesn’t grow. It never did even before my change. Did you know that I wasn’t always like this, Jack?”

Jack shook his head. He didn’t care. “Never really paid attention in history class.” He started to scrub at Rogers’ fingernails just to get that hand off of his face.

“History.” Rogers barked a short sharp laugh, “I’m not history. I’m the future. But once upon a time, Jack, I was very different. I looked up to people, literally.” He tapped on his scarred torso. “‘Bout this high. And everyday, one boy would beat on me. Beat me until I bled. But that wasn’t difficult, I was a bleeder.” Jack took his other hand, if Rogers was talking then he wasn’t trying to fuck. He was just delaying the inevitable, but every minute was a blessing.

“So that’s why you volunteered? To get stronger?”

Rogers seized his wrist suddenly, Jack felt the small bones grate against each other and he gasped in pain. “Who said that I volunteered for anything? Did I ask to become perfection? I wasn’t a volunteer. I was a _conscript._ Kidnapped off the street with my faithful batterer to be experimented upon.” He let go of Jack’s hand as suddenly as he grabbed it. Jack winced and cradled his hand against his chest. “I was subject 32557039. I survived because I am strong. The strong rise up from being beaten down.”

“So… that guy, the one that beat you up, did he make it too?” His wrist ached and Jack blinked back tears.

“Oh no. He was not strong.” Rogers dreamily held a bar of soap in his hand. He rolled it over and over in his fingers, lathering the skin. “When I rule our world, my dear Jack, I will reforge it in his name. And then I will _crush_ it.” He squeezed the soap bar and it crumbled in his hand. “It’s only fair, he taught me so well.”

“You’re insane.” Jack breathed. Rogers swished his hand in the bath water. He flicked a piece of soap past Jack’s ear and winked.

“I’m _fascinating_. Don’t worry, I’m not going to fuck you right now Jack.” He tilted his head back, wet hair stuck to the tiled wall. “I’m going to fuck our eavesdropper. Didn’t anyone tell you that it’s rude to listen in, Commander? Or is your dick too hard for proper manners?”

Jack stared at the Commander who was standing in shadow behind the slightly ajar bathroom door. His face was gleaming with sweat and his breathing was shallow. But it was his eyes that shocked Jack. The pupils were blown wide.

“I just love _trigger words._ ” Rogers sighed happily.


	26. Chapter 26

“Rinse me.” Rogers stood up in the bathtub and pointed at the handheld showerhead. Jack looked at hollow-eyed Rumlow who stood there in the shadows, wordless and waiting.

“But?” Jack said as he reached for the handle and unplugged the tub plug. The red water swirled down the drain. “What’s wrong with him?” He turned on the hot tap and Rogers lazily pivoted in the slippery tub allowing Jack to hose him off.

“Jack, Jack, Jack. Let me tell you a little story.” Rogers raised his arm and closed his eyes. “SHIELD is riddled with HYDRA agents. And those agents have installed things that allow us to siphon information. One of the more tittilating things that I found was a list. A list of phrases. It was marked highly classified, but I couldn’t understand why.” He lifted his other arm. “Until that conversation you two had back at the oasis when you were dancing about each other like flirting schoolgirls. Then I put it all together. There’s only one way that a man like that could be physically repulsed by cursing or profanity. And _we_ invented it.”

“Did it to you, huh?” Jack averted his eyes as the water sluiced over Rogers’ trim waist and nest of golden brown pubic hair.

“No. I am the same as I was before the serum. Only amplified.” Rogers stepped out of the tub. “Dry me. Start at the top.” Jack grabbed a towel. “Slowly, I don’t like my hair to be frizzy.”

“I’m not a hairdresser.” Jack grumbled and tossed the towel over his blonde hair. He snuck a glance back at Rumlow as he toweled off Rogers. Rumlow hadn’t moved a muscle.

“You’re a quick learner.” It took forever to dry off all the nooks and crannies of the human body. Longer when the human was as big as Rogers was. It didn’t help when Rogers made contented little hums in the back of his throat. “I’ve grown to like you, Jack.” He wriggled his toes and Jack took the cue to dry them off individually. 

“You like an audience.” Jack muttered knowing full well Rogers could hear every insubordinate word.

“It’s hard to be as brilliant as I am without a witness. New towel please.” Rogers snapped his fingers and Jack handed it to him with a glower. Rogers wrapped it neatly around his waist and then pointed at his bloody gear. “Cold water, no bleach, tumble dry low.”

“You want me to do your laundry?” Jack asked incredulously. That gear was disgusting, coated in blood and offal.

“Well, _he’s_ not going to be able to do it properly. I mean, look at the wretch, he’s almost catatonic. SHIELD has no finesse, no pride in their work. I should take him to my base and reformat him into something decent. Something more like his duplicitous twin.” Rogers sneered. “Well, hurry up. Dinner is getting cold. Chop chop!” He clapped his hands at Jack.

“Chop chop my ass…” But Jack still took the gear to the laundry room nestled beside the bathroom. “Cold water, no bleach, tumble dry low.” He added an extra scoop of detergent for the clots.

When he returned to the living room, Rogers and Rumlow were sitting at the table. There was a thin stream of drool running down Rumlow’s chin. “Well? Aren’t you going to serve us?”

Jack picked up a casserole dish, mashed potatoes, his mouth watered. There was something with pecans and carrots. And a roasted brown chicken with herb-crusted skin.

“Are you hungry?” Rogers asked soothingly. “Make yourself a plate too. After ours.”

Jack pretended like he was dishing up Thanksgiving dinner for the really old people in the family. He was not going to ask if he had to sit at the kiddo table. Each plate got a heaping helping of food and Rogers whispered something before he tucked in. Jack raised an eyebrow.

“I was saying _Grace_. Heathen.”

Jack shoved a forkful of food in his mouth to choke back his retort. Rumlow stared blankly into the distance. “Are you going to fix him? He can’t even eat right now.”

Rogers took a forkful of mashed potatoes and crooned at Rumlow, “Open your mouth, dear one.” Rumlow obeyed, his mouth slack. Rogers placed the food upon his tongue, “Now chew and swallow it.” Jack watched as Rumlow swallowed. Rogers repeated the process with a piece of buttered bread. “Lick my fingers clean.” The Commander laved his tongue and lips over Rogers’ pale cold fingers until he was satisfied and ordered, “Stop.”

They ate the meal that way, Rogers taking leisurely minutes to eat and feed Rumlow until their plates were almost empty and Rogers ordered Rumlow to lick the plate clean, like an animal. Jack looked down at his plate so he didn’t have to witness that humiliation.

“Kneel.” Rogers pointed at the floor and spread his thighs wide. He untucked the towel from his hips, his massive erection nudged against his flat belly, red and heavy with lust. He scooped up one last morsel and with the air of a debauched king, looked down at Rumlow and asked, “Who do you belong to?”

“James Buchanan Barnes, sir.” Rumlow said without hesitation. The washing machine cycle chime sounded and Jack stood up.

The fork dropped onto the plate with a clatter and Rogers hissed in his breath. “Where are you going?” Rogers exclaimed.

“Tumble dry low.” Jack hooked his thumb towards the laundry facilities. Rogers nodded and stared at the man kneeling at his feet.

Jack tucked the suit in the dryer. It smelled so much better now. Rogers was still deep in thought when Jack returned, breaking his concentration. He leaned forward and grabbed Rumlow about the throat. “Repeat that response.”

“I belong to James Buchanan Barnes, but currently I am on loan to the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. I am to follow their directions without question until my owner returns to claim me.” Wasn’t that the name of the Summer Soldier? Was this some weird metaphor for their relationship?

Rogers sat back in his chair, his cock soft against his thigh. He frowned then asked, “When will he return to claim you?”

“Mission duration parameters are not set.” The Commander’s voice was flat, without inflection. Chills ran up Jack’s arms. “Director Pierce will inform me of his return. It has been decreed.”

“He cannot lie in this state.” Rogers said to himself. “It must be true. How can it be true? The plane crashed into the Arctic Sea…”

“He— he has to answer anything we ask him?” Rogers nodded and Jack recklessly demanded, “Who ordered the hit on me and why?”

The Commander swiveled his head, “I did. By my owner’s order. You made things complicated for us, witnessing our coupling. You were not supposed to recover or return.” Then he returned his gaze to Rogers.

Rogers’ eyes narrowed to slits. “A dead man returns to torment me and undo everything I will achieve. But now, now I know he is waiting for me and I will rip out his throat, _again_ , before he can speak a single vile word.”

Jack had so many questions, but he slumped into a chair instead. He’d been right the whole time. He knew deep down that Murphy wouldn’t do that to him, vegan brownies or not. He was trapped between a psychopath and a puppet. Gunfire echoed outside the building and Jack wanted off this world, right now. “Before you can do that, we need to get home.”

Rogers chewed on his lip. “If _Bucky_ is involved, this one’s mind is going to be riddled with holes, like swiss cheese.”

“He said they were in love.” Jack didn’t know why he felt like sharing that. Maybe it felt safer, more acceptable if you did terrible things in the name of passion. “They were in love?”

Rogers made a rude sound with his lips. “Typical Bucky. It’s always sweetness and roses and ‘I’m with you until the end of the line’ until you discover the sweetness is poison. The roses are studded with thorns. And the end of line is when he tires of you.” Rogers rubbed his face, suddenly weary. “I prayed every night that he’d be tired of me in the morning. But God forsook my prayers until the day I survived the serum. Which is why I say _Grace_ before meals.”

Rumlow blinked and woozily fell over. Jack rushed to his side. His breathing was shallow, but his eyes were back to normal dilation as Jack peeled back the lids. “Well, that tells me what the trigger phrase is, doesn’t it? Until the end of the…” Rogers said with a laugh.

Jack held up his hand, “Don’t. Just don’t.”

“Why do you care? He tried to have you killed.”

Jack put Rumlow on his side, so if he threw up he wouldn’t choke on it and aspirate. “The Summer Soldier wants him. You’d be a fool to throw away a valuable asset. And he’s fucking good with a gun, wicked smart and hotter than both of us.”

“I disagree on the last part. But I do see your point.” Rogers tapped his fingers on the table, “Jack, Jack, Jack. You bring out the best in me. You make me a better person.” The sunny smile made Jack want to scream in terror. “Not that much better, though. Just a little.”

Jack had thought that the smile was terrifying, he wasn’t prepared for the _wink_.


	27. Chapter 27

 

“I feel like I just drank the entire bar.” Rumlow grimaced and mashed his face with his hand. “I don’t remember body shots. I’d remember body shots.”

It had taken at least half an hour for the Commander to wake up. Jack had sat beside him and watched while Rogers made himself pretty. Not that Jack would tell him that to his face. But that’s what it was, primping and fluffing.

“What do you think?” Rogers turned around, showing off his clean gear. You had to respect HYDRA tech, there wasn’t a wrinkle or a stain on that suit, aside from the slight divot from the sniper bullet.

If only that sniper knew how to make a decent headshot, Jack thought. Stupid fucker.

“You look very presentable.” Jack said diplomatically as Rumlow groaned on the carpet.

Rogers tossed a pill bottle to Rumlow. “Found these in the medicine cabinet. You might need them.” He knelt down, cocked his head to the side and asked, “So, do you remember what happened?”

“We walked in here, you talked some trash and I—“ Rumlow shook his head as if to dislodge cobwebs. “I don’t know.” Then he looked up with fire in his eyes. “What did you do to me?”

Rogers cupped Rumlow’s stubbly chin and examined his face carefully, then he asked, “What’s it like to be in love with a butcher?”

Rumlow jerked backwards, but Rogers held onto his face. “I’m just curious. Usually he breaks his toys into tiny, brittle pieces, he doesn’t make them fall in love with him. You are so pretty. Maybe that’s why?”

Rogers shrugged as if the issue no longer concerned him. “Congratulations. You are no longer a totally expendable member of this mission. Grab the gear and let’s get prepped for a jump. Unless you want to stay here trespassing after the Purge Night is over.”

Jack groaned. “Fiiine. I’ll get out my dick.”

“Okay buddy.” Rumlow swallowed his pills. “On the floor or on the couch?” He looked nonplussed, sudden memory loss and nausea were nothing new to him. None of this was new to him. Did he even have a personality that wasn’t fabricated? Was it all lies?

Jack swallowed back his sudden anger and stared at the Commander. “I don’t think I want you to touch me right now.” Rumlow looked confused so Jack elaborated, getting louder with each moment until he was screaming in his former CO’s face. “I know what you did. You ordered the hit, not Murphy. And I wasn’t supposed to survive it! _Goddamned motherfucking lying asshole_!”

The Commander nearly threw up his pills in reaction to the barrage of profanity. “That’s right, you cocksucking fucking shithead! You’re so damned _weak,_ I can’t believe I ever looked up to you! You lied right to my face, you shitty shitty fucking fucktard!” Jack screamed in rage at Rumlow who tried to scuttle away from him, backwards on the floor. “You were my CO! How dare you!?”

He lunged at Rumlow, ready to throttle the life right out of him, but Rogers reached down and nabbed Jack by his shirt collar and then, his hair. “Settle down tiger.”

Jack struggled against Rogers’ grip until Rogers sighed and slung him up over his shoulder like an unruly child. Jack struggled, clawed and bit until Rogers gave him two hearty slaps on the ass that nearly winded him. Jack went limp. He hadn’t been picked up like this since he was five years old. 

“See what you did?” Rogers said to Rumlow, disapproval dripping from his voice. “There there. Jack doesn’t like liars. That’s why he likes me. I only tell the truth.”

“I do _not_ like you.” Jack muttered. The floor looked odd from this angle. Steve smacked him again, rattling his brain against his skull.

“Hush now. You should apologize. Apologize to Jack for all the pain and suffering he’s had to endure because you exist. You and your twin.”

Rumlow was silent, moments away from retching up his dinner and the pain pills.

“You don’t even remember why you gave the order, do you?” Rogers’ voice was silky smooth. “That’s because you’re _weak_. Your mind is easily swayed. Was it sex? Was that how he swayed you? Filling up your greedy little bottom?” 

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Rumlow lurched to his feet and wobbled over to the sink, he ran his face under the tap. “You’re all acting crazy.”

“Motherfucker!” Jack screamed and thrashed to no avail in Rogers’ arms. “I’m crazy?”

Rumlow dried off his face with a dishtowel and stared right back at Jack and Rogers. “I did it. Okay? I did it and I’m sorry. I don’t—“ He sighed as if a great weight was lifted off his shoulders, “There’s some holes in my memories. The therapists have been working to put me back together after they found me.”

“Found you?” Rogers asked, “Where did they find you?”

“In a basement in Brooklyn of all places. I’d been missing for weeks. Really pissed off Pierce, missing all those photo ops. Didn’t really look like the Sexiest Man Alive either at the time. It took months in rehab to get me back to fighting shape.” Brock wound the rag in his fingers. “We were in _love_. We were in— We had to be…” His voice trailed off pathetically.

Rogers thoughtfully rapped his fingers on Jack’s waist where the sweatshirt had ridden up. “He was always a bit soppy and sentimental.”

He strode off to the bedroom and dropped Jack onto the mattress. Jack buried his face in another person’s pillow. It smelled like sandalwood. Soon Rumlow was dropped onto the bed with a thud, along with their gear. “Buckle up boys. It’s time to jump.”

Jack flipped over on his side, keeping his back towards Rumlow. “No pouting.” Rogers said mildly.

“He tried to have me killed. I think I’m entitled to some hurt feelings!” Jack snapped.

Rogers snapped his fingers to get their attention. “Jack, Jack, Jack. I’ve been so very patient, but I think you’ve gotten a little too comfortable around me. So what do you want me to break?” Rogers gestured impatiently, “Come on, come on. Your nose again? Maybe a finger or two?”

Jack’s mouth fell open. “None of the above?”

“Then stop acting like a child and pull out that magic dick of yours. Remember, you played the hero and now you have to deal with the consequences of your actions. That one,” he pointed at Rumlow, “Is just starting to wake up from his dream state. Take the worthless apology. You can kill each other after I’m done with you both.”

Jack pulled down the waistband of his sweatpants and glowered at the other men. Rumlow wasn’t meeting his gaze, he was deep in thought about something that made his brow furrow in distress. _Good,_ Jack thought uncharitably. _Serves him right._

Rogers looped the duffel strap around his shoulder and licked his lips. “Well hello Jack’s cock. Fancy meeting you like this.” Jack squeezed his eyes shut and then rolled them skyward as a cool wet mouth enveloped him. Jack was ashamed at how fast he hardened, then cold fingertips snuck under his shirt and tweaked his nipples. It was too much shameful stimulation. Brilliant light spread out from underneath him, spilling over the edges of the bed. His hips bucked upwards and thrust over and over again until they were falling… falling…

 

It was night. They landed in a back alley, in the middle of cardboard boxes and a dumpster full of trash. The city was strangely silent and after the last place they visited, the trio was instantly on their guard.

Rogers sniffed the air and fell into a crouch, his blade in hand. “Smells like death. And not the good kind of death.”

“What is the _good_ kind of death?” Jack muttered and Rogers hushed him.

A strange eldritch shrieking pierced the quiet and Jack took a step backwards. A primal fear crawled up Jack’s spine and he whispered, “We need to get out of here, now!”

“Are you up to it?” Rumlow asked in a hushed tone, a pistol in one hand and his stun baton charged on his hip.

The shadows started to separate, forms peeling off of the darkness and crawling towards them. “I’m gonna be!” Jack stuck his hand in his pants and started to jerk himself off.

Jack coaxed up the fastest boner of his life, jerked himself like he was sneaking a peek at the high school quarterback in the locker room way back when. “It’s not working!”

Rumlow stepped sideways, curled his warm hand around Jack’s and in a rock-steady tone that belied his fear, whispered in his ear, “Good boy. You are such a _good boy._ ”

It shouldn’t have worked, but Jack gave into the pleasure of the praise and the memories of his first encounters with Brock fueled his lust. He was becoming well-trained, Jack thought. The light swelled along with his climax, driving back the dwellers in the dark. They shrieked, gibbered and wailed incomprehensible curses at the brightness.

“I hate _vampires_.” Rogers said. “So _unsanitary._ ”

 

Their next stop wasn’t in a city. At least not a city from this millennium. “Oh no.” Rumlow said, “Where are we now?” Rogers was nowhere to be seen. Jack adjusted his chafed dick and squinted into the brightly sunlit road.

“Are those _centurions_?” Oh hell. “Did we go back in time?” Jack grabbed a duffel bag. They had their supplies, that was something. “Where’s Rogers?”

“Just listen for the screaming.” Rumlow quipped. Then suddenly they were staring at several very sharp swords pointing at their soft parts.

One of the guards announced, “You are not freemen. You are not slaves. You are now property of the Magistrate and shall be commended to the pit for the Games!”

Rumlow and Jack shared a long suffering glance, then Jack bellowed at the top of his lungs, “ROGERS!!!!!”


	28. Chapter 28

Rumlow slowly reached for his stun baton. “I only like the _fun_ kind of games.” One of the soldiers poked him in the arm with their glaive and he dropped his hand, blood dripped from beneath his black SHIELD emblem. “That wasn’t very sporting.”

They were herded into a holding area, searched from head to toe and stripped to their skin. They sat on a rough hewn wooden bench in front of a man with a shaved head and a serious expression. “I am First Prime Sitwell. You are not freemen. You are not slaves.”

“How can you tell?” Rumlow asked, more comfortable in his skin than Jack. He leaned forward, his elbows propped on his knees. Jack had goosebumps crawling up and down his skin from the chilly room and the way Sitwell was looking at them.

“Freemen have the mark.” First Prime Sitwell pointed at the scar on his forearm. It was an octopus brand. Jack frowned at the far too familiar logo. Rogers would love that. “Slaves have collars. Therefore you are not either and are to compete in the Games for a chance at becoming freemen. The Magistrate does not negotiate with invaders or savages.”

“So why are you telling us this?” Rumlow said smoothly, “I do appreciate the information. It’s very _civilized_ of you.” Jack recognized his tone, it was the same one Rumlow used when speaking with Pierce on the rare occasion Jack had witnessed them conversing.

The First Prime smiled condescendingly. “Yes, it is. I’ll answer all of your questions.” He pointed at folded linen pants on the end of the bench. “Dress. Then you will be paraded. You should do your best to make a good impression.”

“Why is that?” Jack stepped into the pants. Rumlow did the same. No sense in getting prematurely perforated.

“Because the only weapons you will have in the arena are the ones the audience gives you.” The First Prime smiled again. “Do you know how to defend yourselves, savages?”

“A little.” Rumlow said with tight lips. “Do we get our gear back?”

“Yes. If you survive.”

Jack scratched his beard. “How many people survive these games?”

Sitwell tilted his head and regarded his captives with bemusement. “There’s a first time for everything.”

 

Jack and Rumlow sat in silence, back to back on the floor, as they awaited the parade. Jack let sand dribble between his fingers, it formed tiny hillocks.

“Want to know something funny?” Rumlow said finally.

“I'm sure it’s a laugh riot.” Jack picked up more sand.

“I actually caught myself wishing that Steve Rogers was here.” Rumlow started laughing. “I was like, ‘Where the heck is that psychopath when you need him?’”

“That’s not really funny.” Jack sighed. “Where the fuck is he? I know he’s like a goddamned ghost when he wants to be, but I hadn’t even tucked my dick back in my pants and he was gone!”

Rumlow coughed. “I know you’re mad at me, but do you really want me puking out there? No one is going to give us weapons if I heave on them.”

Jack felt his cheeks glow red, he ducked his head. “Whatever. What are we even supposed to do out there?”

Rumlow shrugged, Jack felt the movement against his back. “Improvise.”

 

“Hello _beautiful_!” A wolf whistle greeted their arrival on the long pathway to the arena. Jack raised an eyebrow and pointed at himself. “No! The other one!” That stung. The guards slowly made them proceed up the path.

Rumlow put his fists up and did a little shadow boxing, quick little jabs and foot shuffles. It made his muscles do interesting things, hypnotic things. The audience howled in approval and a small dagger landed at his feet. Rumlow blew the donator a kiss and there was a roar of approval.

This wasn’t a parade. It was a beauty pageant.

“You better share.” Jack said through gritted teeth. He wasn't even going to be Miss Congeniality. 

Rumlow smirked and plucked a gauzy scarf from a woman’s hand. He made a show of inhaling the perfume and swept a deep bow, then took the woman’s hand and twirled her in a easy dance. He finished with a graceful dip and the woman placed the back of her hand on her forehead, feigning a swoon. When she scampered back in to the crowd, Rumlow had a stiletto in a sheath tucked in his waistband.

Rumlow winked at the crowd, grinned with all of his white teeth and Jack remembered tugging at his cock in the toilet after meeting his CO for the first time. Jack swallowed hard and stumbled forward as the guards pressed them onwards.

“ _You_.” One word and Jack turned back towards the crowd. An older version of himself beckoned at Jack, brutally chiseled. He stood apart from the others.Jack stepped close and his twin looked him over with cold fascination. He was scarred across his face, as if he’d been slashed by claws. “You want a weapon?”

Jack nodded, hypnotized by the grey in his twin’s hair and the hardened muscles in his arms. His twin seized the back of his head and pressed their lips together. Jack froze in surprise as his twin messily kissed him, their teeth clashing. A massive tongue invaded his mouth and when his twin released Jack, Jack was gasping.

The older Jack said in Jack’s ear, “Didn’t bring any weapons. Try not to die. So I can find you _later_.” Then he grabbed Jack’s ass, squeezed hard and walked away.

Rumlow sauntered over to Jack, he was covered in gifts. It was disgusting. “Aw. A kiss for luck?” He adjusted a bowie knife on his hip, it was the length of his forearm.

Jack wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I guess? You look like a walking cutlery store.”

“I just know how to work a crowd. That’s why Pierce recruited me. My charisma.” The guards herded them to the entrance, “Just watch this,” Brock said, then he waved with both hands at his entourage and shouted, “Generous citizens! My thanks! I shall survive so that I can truly show you my gratitude!” Jack’s jaw fell open at the bump and grind that Rumlow did with sinuous grace and suspicious ease. The crowd roared.

Rumlow grinned in triumph, his cheeks flushed pink.

“At what club did Pierce recruit you again? And were you working the stripper pole that night?” Jack grimaced. His mouth still tasted like the other Jack’s lips. Rumlow was suspiciously silent, he was biting his lip. He handed Jack a blade.

The First Prime awaited them at the gate. “I see you have charmed the citizens.” He spared a pitying glance for Jack, “At least _one_ of you has.” The arena shook as the gate on the opposite side opened.

As the guards forced them through the entrance, Sitwell said, “Although I am rather surprised that neither of you asked exactly _what_ you would be fighting.” Both men stared in astonishment at what lumbered into the arena.

“ _Fuck_.”

It wasn’t Jack that swore.

 

 


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one tonight, but I couldn't leave you on that cliffhanger.

 

“What I—“ Jack dodged a blow, “Want to know—“ He ducked and slashed his knife against the rubbery skin of the monster. “Is how do they get the armor to stay on the octopus?”

Rumlow didn’t answer, he was stabbing at a tentacle that had ensnared his leg. It was like stabbing a tire. The blades bounced off the monster more often than scoring a hit. It was slippery, covered in a thick ooze. Both men had large round bruises on their bodies from the suction cups. _Hickies from Hell_ , Jack thought.

The crowd was chanting “Hail the Hydra!” over and over in a raucous cacophony. Their fanbase had rapidly dwindled as it became apparent that they were losing.

“Where the heck is Rogers?” Rumlow barely escaped a slap from a massive tentacle, he rolled in the dirt and sprang up in a crouch. “He can’t want to stay here!”

Jack scrambled backwards on his hands and feet, like a crab to avoid a strike. His head struck the arena base board with a thud and the monster advanced upon him. Rumlow’s knife broke off at the hilt and he tossed it aside. He ran towards Jack’s side, but the creature tossed him away like a ragdoll. He landed in a pile of limbs on the other side of the arena and did not rise. 

 _So this is how it ends,_ Jack thought before he descended into sweet, merciful oblivion. _I always hated calamari._

 

Heaven was really nice. 

It smelled like warm sunshine, sweet cut grass and roses. Not the hothouse flowers from the florist with no scent, but the wild brambles that curled over the fence at his grandmother’s house. He hadn’t thought about that in years.

The clouds were very cushy too. Jack cracked an eye open. Okay, maybe he wasn’t dead. The room was tiled in brilliant blue, the color of lapis, thousands of glittering glass shards. A tub of steaming hot perfumed water waited in the corner. A bowl of a sweet, bland porridge and a pitcher of water were beside the cushioned couch.

“Awake now?” A deep voice rumbled from behind a corner screen painted with a triumphant battle. “Eat the gruel. It will help your pain.”

Jack sat up and rubbed the back of his aching head. “You mean it’s drugged.” There was no response and Jack decided that he could live with his headache. It wasn’t his first concussion and it wasn’t like he was a genius to begin with.

“What happened?” He asked the man behind the screen. “We were losing.”

“You lost.” The man paused, “The Magistrate was merciful and spared your lives.”

“So, we can leave?” Jack didn’t see Rumlow. “My friend and I?” His _friend_. That wasn’t hard to say after remembering the expression of anguish on Rumlow’s face as he rushed to his aid. The bastard actually cared about him. Well, he was the only way the Commander was getting home, so his motives weren’t all that pure.

“No. You are guests of the Magistrate.” Another telling pause, “Unless you wish to return to the arena, you will bathe and eat. Do not shun _my_ hospitality.”

Jack pointedly took one spoonful of the gruel and swallowed it. It wasn’t bad tasting, but his tongue was curiously numb afterwards. One spoonful wouldn’t do anything to him, not with his body weight. “ _Good boy_. You’re stubborn, but not stupid. Now get in the bath.”

Jack had been in gyms, public showers and in the military for years. He’d never been completely comfortable in casual nudity, he was too tall and too big to avoid attracting attention, but something about the commanding tone of voice the man made his tattered, filthy trousers drop to the tiled floor.

He slipped down into the hot water. The tub was large enough for him to stretch out, a curious oddity. He’d never been in one large enough for that. It might have been the possible concussion, the drugs in the gruel or the exhaustion from the fight, but Jack felt himself nodding off. You weren’t supposed to sleep with a concussion. He tried to jerk himself into consciousness, slapped the side of his face limply.Wouldn’t it be funny if he drowned in the bathtub after someone saved his life?

Who was this Magistrate anyway? And where was Rogers? He needed that bastard. Rogers would have popped that creature like a pimple. But Rogers abandoned them. That stung more than it should have. He’d wished for his freedom from that monster so many times and now… he was gone. The Commander was gone too. Brock was gone. Tears welled up and trailed through the arena dirt on his cheeks.

That was some _potent_ porridge.

Fingers combed through his hair, probed the tender spot on the back of his scalp. Jack moaned at the tender touch, it reminded him of that first steamy encounter with the double agent who claimed to care for him…“Brock?” It seemed so long ago and so far away.

He opened his eyes, a blurry mirror loomed above him. A distorted mirror. Jack watched a crooked smile curl on his reflection’s lips as the pain dwindled away. He reached up with a shaking hand and touched his older twin’s lips with wet fingers. Calloused fingers entwined with his own and Jack closed his eyes. He let out a shuddery sigh of surrender and the other man anointed his forehead with a kiss. 

“Try not to die.”


	30. Chapter 30

 

 

It felt like he’d slept for a week. Maybe more. _I should just keep my eyes shut, because weird shit happens when I pass out,_ Jack thought. The smell of roses was still heavy in the air, but the tinkling of feminine laughter was new. _No screams, no shrieks. Rogers must not be here,_ Jack thought and barely opened his eyes. He was naked _again_. 

A woman with dark hair offered him a cup of water, she placed it against his dry lips. It didn’t seem to have anything in it and he swallowed gratefully. “Where am I?” 

“The harem.” The soft answer made Jack’s eyebrows shoot up. She made him drink again. “You needed rest, scrubbing and delousing. Can’t have you looking shabby for the Magistrate.”

“I didn’t have _lice_.” Jack said indignantly.

She ignored his outburst and squinted at him as if she could not believe her eyes. “It is as if you were his _son_.” She shook her head and smiled. “I am Maria. This is my domain as Mistress.”

“I’m Jack Rollins.” She nodded. “Where is my friend, Brock?”

“Not far. You both were exhausted. Not many survive the Hydra test.” She beckoned to him. “You need a trim. Come.”

“I hope you’re better with a razor than I was with a sword.” Her hips swayed under the filmy robes, Jack followed as she laughed at him. 

Soon his hair was trimmed, the long spots in his beard carefully nipped and salve applied to all his wounds. Her fingers traced over the stars carved in his skin and then the name. “You are very good friends with this Brock?”

“Different Brock.” Her eyebrow raised. “Long story.”

“The Magistrate wants to see you after you’ve eaten. It is not drugged. This time.” Jack took a small bite and waited for numbness in his tongue. Maria pursed her lips. “If I wanted to incapacitate you,I would not have awoken you.”

Jack shrugged. It was a good point. He cleaned his plate. Maria patted his arm and handed him a gauzy wrap for his hips. He held it in his gun calloused hands and stared at it blankly. Maria huffed out an impatient little sigh and motioned for him to stand. She dressed him like a child, tucking in the cloth in a cunning fashion, clucking her tongue. She stood back and looked at him appraisingly. “You will do, I think.”

“Thanks. I think.” Jack rubbed his chin, “Am I expected to go in there and _perform_?”

“That’s not my place to say.” Maria carefully blanked her expression. “Try not to die.” She spread her arms and gestured to the curtained arch.

“People keep telling me that.” Jack muttered and stepped through the curtains.

As the curtains shut behind him, Jack heard her say, “That’s because it’s good advice. Jack Rollins.”

 

Intricate maps rose from the floor on frames and hung from the ceiling. A large desk in the middle of the room was covered in neat stacks of paper. Books and scrolls were nestled in rows along the walls. The Magistrate sat at the desk and studied a ledger. He did not look up and Jack was reminded of the rare occasions he had to be in the same room with Director Pierce. 

Jack stood at parade rest just like he would at home if he was summoned. He watched the Magistrate carefully. A song started to buzz in the back of his mind warning about caution in the lion’s den. What musical was that from again? Something Murphy liked.

There was a sword on a rack, well-cared for and frequently used from the wear patterns. Would these people know what a gun was? Had they already gone through their gear and decided that they were something worse than outsiders?

Jack blinked back those panicked thoughts and composed himself. He was mended and clean, battered and scarred, not remotely as attractive as either of his _companions_. And where the hell was Rogers? Did he get dropped into another world? _Fuck._ If that was the case, then he was stuck here with Rumlow and at this man’s mercy. So he waited quietly.

It appeared to be the right decision. The Magistrate set down his ledger, rubbed the bridge of his nose and finally looked at Jack. “I see Maria thought you’d be fetching in blue.” He looked at Jack as if he was cataloging every plane and curve of his body and committing the sum to memory. Jack felt his cheeks burn under the intense scrutiny, so he steeled himself and stared back brazenly.

The claw marks across the Magistrate’s face barely missed his green eyes. Muscles bulged in his arms as the Magistrate pushed himself up from his desk. He wore a simple tunic, severe and the same shade as the wrap around Jack’s hips. A chest tattoo peeked out from the neckline. Of course, it was an octopus tentacle. Jack absently wondered how big the tattoo was. It was utterly bizarre looking into his own face. He never truly saw himself as others did, he only saw reflections and recordings. Maybe, maybe he wasn’t as hideous as he thought…

The Magistrate walked around him, inspecting him closely. He stood behind Jack and spoke in his ear, a low deep familiar rumble. “Are you hale and hearty? Free of disease? Do you have all your teeth?”

Jack scrunched his eyebrows and stammered, “Yes?” SHIELD had excellent health and dental insurance. Not that it was worth all this in hindsight… “Why?”

A finger trailed down his spine. “Gifts from the gods always come with high prices.” Jack shivered as the Magistrate stroked the flesh of his back. The possessive touch reminded him of Rogers.

“When unvetted strangers come to town, I test them. Like you and your friend. I was tempted to bring you here the moment I saw you on the parade, but I needed to see if you were competent with a weapon. I am patient.”

“Perhaps you might have actually vanquished the Hydra if you were a god in disguise, too. But you are human. Human as I am.” The Magistrate gripped Jack’s jaw and stared into his eyes. “But you wear my face. My face when I was in my prime laying waste to the old regime. How can you wear my face?”

Rogers stepped out from behind a screen, the deathshead HYDRA logo glowing red on his chest.He held a lumpy burlap sack stained red with blood. He tossed the sack at the Magistrate’s feet, it landed with a muffled thud.

A stranger’s eyes stared out from the sack and Jack looked away. “Proof of my divinity. Your rival is no more.” Rogers smiled, “Hello Jack. You do look lovely in blue.”

Jack held his breath as the Magistrate suddenly leaned in and kissed him just as intently as he had on the parade route. “I prayed. I sacrificed. But I never _believed._ ” The older man breathed against Jack’s mouth. “They have sent me a god. And an heir.”

“Wait? A what and a what?” Jack pulled away from the Magistrate’s embrace.

“He said a _god_ and an _heir_.” Rogers ran his fingers through his blonde hair, streaking it red. “We all know who the god is. Naturally. But what’s this heir nonsense?”

The Magistrate turned to Rogers and said, “You may have your choice to rule as you see fit,” He pointed at the maps, “But I am _keeping_ this man.” Fingers dug in at Jack’s waist.

A flicker passed over Rogers’ face and passed like a jealous shadow. He exaggeratedly shrugged. “As you like. He’s nothing special to me. I'm tired of him. Keep the other one too. He’ll be amusing in bed.” Then he left the room.

The Magistrate held Jack in his arms and petted his hair. “You are worth the price of dealing with gods.” Jack blinked in surprise. Rogers had just _sold him_.

_That son of a bitch._


	31. Chapter 31

The Magistrate escorted Jack down a tiled hallway. The intricate pieces reflected the lamplight and sparkled. It was quite beautiful. He stopped in front of a door. “These are my chambers.”

Jack sighed deeply, his shoulders slumped. The Magistrate raised an eyebrow and asked curiously, “What is wrong?”

“I’m just waiting for you to…” Jack gestured with his hand and then grabbed his crotch. “Tell me to perform, I guess.” It was his lot in life now, it seemed.

“I merely wanted to show you that my chambers are across the hall from yours. It is an honor that I offer only to envoys of other nations and close family members.” He pointed to the door across the hall. His voice deepened and he asked, “Are you often forced to _perform_ in the bedchamber, Jack?”

“More often than I would like. Yeah.” Jack bit his lip as his hasty words escaped.

“You travel with a god?” Jack nodded. “And he used you for his pleasures?” The Magistrate’s tone flattened in disapproval as Jack looked at his feet and nodded again. It was more complicated than that, wasn’t it? “Then you are made of fine steel, Jack, to survive the attentions of that one.”

He pinned Jack to the wall with one firm hand against Jack’s chest and stared into his eyes. “I have taken entire countries by force. I have ground resistance beneath my heel into dust. But I do not employ such tactics in the bedchamber.” Jack’s heart thumped in his chest and his lips parted as the Magistrate leaned closer.

He closed his eyes and felt hot breath on his cheek, but then the Magistrate reached past Jack and opened the latch on the door. “One day, you will ask to join me in my bedchamber. Until that day, I shall not compel you to do so. As a token of my good faith, there is a surprise in your room. Your first servant.” He let his hand slide down Jack’s chest.

Jack opened his eyes and there was a crooked warm smile on the Magistrate’s lips. “Go on, my young one. We have much to do in the morning. It’s not every day that my people meet my new son.”

“Your _son_?” Jack stammered.

“Why yes. I must adopt you so you can inherit my lands, my holdings and my wealth. That is what it means to be an _heir_.” He brushed a stray hair off of Jack’s forehead. “A blessing from the gods, indeed. Sleep well.” He paused as if to see what Jack would do next, then he licked his lips and after a few moments, nodded and returned to his own chambers. Jack stood in thunderstruck silence.

He wasn’t getting banged tonight? The man Rogers sold him to was— it took a moment to wrap his brain around the concept— not going to fuck him? Jack pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and tightly shut his eyes. A small flame of hope sprang up and flickered, but Jack squashed it down. It was too good to be true.

He shut and latched the door behind him and let his eyes adjust to the dim lamplight. There was a lump in his bed, human sized. That would be the _surprise_ the Magistrate referred to. “Um. Hi. I’m sorry. But I don’t need any companionship tonight.”

The blanketed form shook, probably from tears or sobbing, Jack thought. “You can stay. If you have to. I don’t want you to get in trouble or anything like that. I’m sorry! Please don’t cry! It’s not you— it’s me—“ Jack sat on the edge of the bed and reached out a tentative hand.

The blanket flipped back and Rumlow sat up and seized Jack’s hand. “Aww! You hurt my widdle feelings.” He rolled his eyes and flopped back on the bed. His dark hair was braided in cornrows and festooned with blue flowers.

“Rumlow?” Jack squinted, “Are you wearing makeup?” Dark black kohl encircled his eyes and his lips were tinted red.

“Maybe.” Rumlow swished his hand in the air. “I don’t _fucking_ know.” Jack reacted to the profanity as if he had been slapped.

“What?” He peered into Rumlow’s eyes, his pupils were hugely dilated. “Are you _high_?”

Rumlow giggled. He giggled and slapped at Jack. “I think I might be? The pretty lady said it would make me more relaxed and hurt less when the _heir_ , whoever the fuck that is, took me.” Rumlow made a circle with his thumb and forefinger and stabbed his other finger through it in a crude gesture of sex. “And I was like, lady, you do not have to tell me how to take it up the ass. I am like a world champion. It’s like my superpower.”

He held up a hand, “Am I right or am I right?” He shook his hand, “Don’t leave me hanging bro.”

Jack reluctantly completed the high-five. “As I was saying’. I don’t need any help with that other than some lube. So I am pre-slicked and ready for pounding. Dry dogging it, not fun. James liked to do that sometimes because he liked to see me cry, but I was not into it.” Rumlow smacked his lips. “You know, he did a lot of things to me that I was not into now that I think about it.” His face clouded and for a moment, he appeared completely sober. Then he smiled. “I had a thought there. But I lost it. Flew out my fucking ears.” He whistled like a bird. “So you better clear out Jack, cause I’ve got some fucking to do here. It’s my mission.”

Jack sighed, “Rumlow. I’m the heir.”

“No shit?” The Commander cocked his head to the side and blinked his long, long eyelashes.

“No shit. Rogers sold us to the Magistrate. He’s going to adopt me and you get to be my servant.” Rumlow started giggling again and Jack couldn’t help joining in. It was so ridiculous. The two men laughed until tears leaked out of their eyes and Jack flopped back on the bed.

In a blink of an eye, Rumlow nimbly mounted Jack, straddling him with his thick thighs. He bracketed Jack with his arms, the muscles standing out in corded relief. He dipped his head and brushed his lips against Jack’s. Jack recoiled in shock as Rumlow whispered, “You’re my mission.”

“You’re drugged.” Jack said feebly. Desire mixed with self-hatred and revulsion swam through him. This man tried to have him killed, betrayed him. And saved him over and over. “Sleep it off.”

“I feel better than I have in years. Decades maybe.” Rumlow ground his silk-clad hips against Jack in a sinuous motion. “Maybe you’re not up to the challenge of fucking the Commander. Is that it? Am I too intimidating?” He bit on Jack’s lower lip and dragged his teeth along the tender flesh. “Or are you pining for those cold hands? Am I too warm for you, Jackie?”

Jack jerked in shock at the name. “Don’t call me that.” 

“Why not? Jackie boy. It’s not like you’re gonna do anything about it. Wuss.” Rumlow looked down his nose at Jack and something snapped in his brain. He flipped Rumlow over on the mattress, pinned him in a submission hold with one arm and ripped off the gauzy fabric on their hips.

He snarled, “You wanna get fucked? You crazy drugged up asshole?” Rumlow whined in need, a high-pitched animal noise that went straight to Jack’s dick. Jack slipped his free hand in between Rumlow’s ass cheeks, dipped his fingertip in the lewdly pouting hole and the Commander arched his back, trying to force more inside.

“Come on! Do it! Fuck me!” Rumlow gasped, “I need it. I need you inside my filthy hole. I’m not complete unless I’m filled up with your cock. Oh please, please _James_ , fuck me!”

Jack jerked his hand back as if it had been burned. His face flushed hot and his cock glistened with arousal. He said gruffly, his throat tight and strained, “Go to sleep, Rumlow. We’re not doing this. Not now.”

“But—“ Rumlow was weeping into the bedding, “ _But_ _you’re my mission_.” His voice was far away and pathetically child-like. Jack covered him up with the bedding and hesitantly patted his shoulder.

“Sleep it off. We’ll talk in the morning, okay buddy?”

Rumlow nodded, kohl streaked down his cheeks. Jack stood up, his cock painfully hard and left the room before his dick made him do something he regretted.

He shut the door behind him and leaned up against the hallway. Jack tilted back his head and muttered, “Fuck my life.” He closed his eyes.

“Let me help you with that.” Rogers said. Jack startled and saw the black-clad monster leaning up against the opposite wall. He gestured at Jack’s erection.

“You sold me.” Jack hissed. “You son of bitch.”

Rogers smiled mildly, “You’ll get over it. Come here, Jack.” Rogers crooked his finger.

Jack lifted his chin, squared his shoulders and strode towards Rogers. Satisfaction spread across Rogers’ chiseled features and he held out his hand. Jack deliberately walked past and opened the Magistrate’s door. He shut it behind him. There was a muffled roar and the sound of shattered glass, the walls shook.

The Magistrate sat on his bed, nude, another ledger in hand. He looked up at Jack, his arousal obvious and held out his hand in invitation. “Do you wish to join me, Jack?”

Jack swallowed back his anxiousness and his fingers slid into the Magistrate’s. If he was going to be fucking anyone tonight, it was going to be _his_ choice. “Yes.”


	32. Chapter 32

“Sit with me.” The Magistrate patted the bed, his blanket covered his groin and Jack obeyed. Jack wasn’t used to this slow, respectful approach when his dick was involved. He felt awkward and hunched his shoulders to appear smaller.

The Magistrate stretched out languidly. Jack compared the two powerful men in his crazy life. Rogers had a constant air of menace, the man beside Jack simply commanded attention, as easily as breathing. He was a _king_. Rogers was a nightmare. And Jack was at their mercy, no matter how they both might claim to want him. “You have the look of a man who has seen danger.” _No shit_.

“I was a soldier.” Jack didn’t know where to put his hands so he folded them over his lap, trying to hide the smears of arousal on his belly. “Then a private contractor.”

The Magistrate nodded, “Yes. Share with me the song of your scars.” Jack looked confused, so he patiently touched the scarred web of Jack’s hand. “This. How?”

“Um. Slide bite. Wasn’t paying attention. Glocks have a nasty one.” Jack wasn’t sure how to explain what that was so he pointed at a scar on the Magistrate’s chest.

A soft chuckle. “Sword. Plains of Ibizar. I didn’t think the charioteer was armed. I was wrong.” He touched a small shiny scar on Jack’s knee.

Jack smiled this time. “I jumped off the roof. I was trying to fly. I couldn’t.” He touched a nasty looking wound on the Magistrate’s bicep. The skin was hot under his fingertips.

“Warrior named the Widow. She nearly bested me. My second in commander shot her through the eye as she caught him in the throat with her throwing dagger.” He dragged his fingertips along the angle of Jack’s jaw, over the scar on his chin. Jack swallowed, both at the touch and the wound that never truly seemed to heal no matter how much time and sutures were applied.

“I was betrayed.” It was a simple truth. “Three men. Outside my parents’ house.”

“And how many walked away?” The Magistrate asked with quiet steel in his voice.

“I did.” Jack said. There was a reason there was no fruitful investigation into his assault, there were no surviving witnesses. And by the time he was out of the hospital the trail was long cold. He knew why now and he tried to not glance in the direction of where Rumlow was sleeping it off. “I was a long time recovering.”

“Your healers were masterful. I wish that I had their skills here.” A rueful sigh. He pointed at his face. “You are polite and respectful, but you wish to know.” Jack nodded. “My greatest defeat. I intended to conquer a nation that was protected by a god of their own. A black panther. He slashed me and sent me home as warning to the rest of my kind.” The Magistrate let out a slow breath, as if he was composing himself, then he touched the two stars carved into Jack’s skin.

Jack flinched. “Those aren’t scars yet.”

“A gift from your god?”

“He’d call them that.” Jack said bitterly.

“And that mark?” The Asgardian tattoo, his curse.

“A long story.” Jack shrugged. “I tried to be a hero and failed. It’s magic.” He whispered conspiratorially, “It glows when I get really excited.” 

The Magistrate took his hand and held it firmly, he laced his fingers over Jack’s. “Magic? If I buried myself in your flesh, would you rejuvenate me?”

“I’m not _that_ kind of magic.” Jack smiled sheepishly, “Sorry.”

“Oh I disagree.” The Magistrate pulled Jack close and kissed the side of his throat. “You do not understand how intoxicating you are. I prayed that you would find your way here, willingly. And I must be careful with my prayers if they will be so readily granted.”

Jack felt himself responding to the tender touches and kind words, stiffening further. “I— I—“ he stammered. “I don’t know what to say?”

“Those lips should be kissed silent then. I accept your challenge.” He drew Jack down beneath him and Jack melted against the older man’s hard muscles and taut sinews. They were perfectly matched and Jack felt strangely at peace as his lips were worshiped. “So beautiful. So strong.” The words thrilled up Jack’s spine and he thrust his hips up against the Magistrate’s groin.

The Magistrate threaded his fingers through Jack’s hair and tugged Jack’s head back, exposing his throat. Jackgroaned as teeth grazed his taut skin and the sound made the Magistrate redouble his efforts. _I am going to have the worst hickies_ , Jack thought absently. _Good. That’ll show the bastard he doesn’t own me. Not anymore._

Jack surrendered to pleasure, he’d earned this, somehow. Earned the right to be adored and coveted. Brock had seen something desirable in him and now the Magistrate only had eyes for him. It was almost enough to give him a swelled head. The throbbing ache of raw need at his groin agreed.

“Young one,” The Magistrate growled against his skin, “There was one scar that I did not sing of. No one must know of this scar.” He lifted the blanket off of his groin and Jack blinked in surprise. A scarred nub of flesh and a single testicle in a gnarled sac lay nestled in thick dark pubic hair. “The panther god was not content with marring my face. He wished to destroy my legacy, as well.”

“Oh.” Jack said softly, his skin gleaming with sweat. What could you say to that revelation? “No children, then?”

The Magistrate shook his head.“I have you now.” His gaze hardened and Jack fleetingly thought about Brock and Rogers. “My legacy is secure. All that I have worked for, it will be yours. And I can spit in the black panther god’s eye.”

“But do you still want sex?” God damn it. He better still want sex. Jack was so horny after Rumlow and exhilarated from defying Rogers that he wanted to scream in frustration. “‘Cause I still want you…” He wrapped his fist around his cock and stroked.

The older man licked his lips, his eyes hooded with lust. “So greedy, my young one. Do not worry, I can satisfy you.” The Magistrate opened a box next to the bed. Jack’s eyes widened as he pulled out a considerable black leather cock with straps. _Whoa._ The Magistrate smirked at Jack’s surprise and he twirled his index finger in the air. “On your belly, son.”

Jack obeyed and oil drizzled down his crack. “There’s one benefit to this cunning toy,” the leather cock slapped against Jack’s thigh.

“What’s that?” Jack murmured, his face buried in the bedding.

“You will fuck _me_ with it later.”

 

The first light of dawn stretched across the Magistrate’s bed and warmed Jack’s face. Jack felt amazingly _good_. Better than he had in weeks. Loose with relaxation and endorphins. For an old guy, the Magistrate had some serious stamina. Jack smiled at the memory of having the king pinned under his hips, milking the pleasure out of his prostate. His dick night not function, but there was nothing wrong anywhere else.

Jack’s cheeks flushed at the sweet intimacy of the night. He was trusted. Utterly trusted. It made him momentarily giddy. He reached out his arm, but there was no one in the bed with him.

There was a note on the pillow. Jack couldn’t read it. That might be a problem later. Well, Jack thought, it couldn’t be as bad as his 7th grade Spanish class. And if he was going to be the heir, he needed to take it seriously. He wanted to please the Magistrate.

Jack scrubbed his face with his hands, slapped himself softly. It was too good to be true.He wanted to be happy here, trusted and adored.

A pair of loose linen pants were draped over the end of the bed. Jack stepped into them and tied the waist strings.

He had to tell Rumlow. He strode to his chambers and opened the door.

He was going to stay. It was all going to be okay. A grin stretched his face. It felt odd to smile like that. How long had it been since he— Maria was sitting on the bed and she was _not_ smiling. Her hands were pink with blood as she wrung out a rag into a basin. Jack stared in horror at Rumlow, limp on his bed, his back covered in countless shallow slices. There wasn’t a deliberate pattern, only simple brutality. He felt lightheaded at the sight of all the blood.

Maria combed back Rumlow’s hair softly, the braids had come undone or been ripped out. There were blue petals scattered on the sheets.

Jack felt sick. He ran blindly from the room, overcome with his nauseating guilt. He threw up in a decorative urn in the hall. He found his way to a fountain in the middle of the courtyard. Jack splashed water on his face, swished his bile-filled mouth and braced his hands on his knees.

A stone whizzed past his ear. Jack saw Rogers sitting on a stone bench, the stem of a single blue flower clamped between his lips.

Rogers stood. He strode up to Jack, paused and plucked the flower from his mouth. He slid the stem behind Jack’s ear and walked away, whistling a jaunty show tune, his thumbs tucked in his belt loops. The whistle echoed down the hallway until it faded.

Jack slumped down against the fountain, the tiled wall cool against his back. With trembling fingers, Jack took the blue flower out from behind his ear.

Not a single petal was missing or bruised. It was perfect and beautiful.

Jack crushed it in his hand and wept.


	33. Chapter 33

Maria assured him that Rumlow would be taken care of, but that didn’t soothe Jack’s guilt. If he’d just… if he hadn’t… It was his fault. He should have known better.

“Young one.” The Magistrate said, “You are not with me now.” The falcon on the Magistrate’s gauntleted fist keened and flapped its wings. “Your companion will heal. And your god will be us leaving soon. One way or another.”

Jack nodded and bit his lip. “Yeah.”

“You cannot change the past. Not even the gods can do that.” He handed off the falcon to an underling. “Come.” He took Jack’s hand and Jack averted his eyes. “Now, I will show you the source of our power.”

It was an noisy crowded auction arena. But people were on the auction block, not livestock. The auctioneer saw the Magistrate enter the arena and gestured to the crowd. Everyone stood and bowed their head until the Magistrate nodded and then they took their seats.

Jack watched helplessly as crying children were separated from their families, mothers sold to brothels and men sold to the army. For every life that was destroyed, the Magistrate took twenty percent.

The next warehouse was no less shocking. Piles of poppies and other plants were stacked high as workers made drugs. Hallucinogens, narcotics and highly effective aphrodisiacs that made the taker’s eyes glaze over with wanton lust. That’s what they’d dosed Rumlow with. He’d bet anything. The Magistrate called them medicines, but Jack knew that was total bullshit.

The way the Magistrate smiled proudly as he introduced Jack as his son had to be bullshit too. Jack barely ate anything at dinner and the Magistrate patted his shoulder, kindly, when he asked to go to his room. Jack flinched at his touch and the Magistrate pulled his hand away as if he had been burned. 

In his chambers, Jack lay on his bed. The bloody bedding had been stripped, but Jack could still smell it.

The Magistrate was a drug lord and a slave dealer. That was how he had consolidated his power. Jack curled up on his side, the despondent eyes of the slaves stared right through him, his hand clutched the blankets. If he stayed that would be _his_ legacy as well.

This wasn’t such a great place after all.

The shadows moved and lamp light caught the edge of Rogers’ profile. Jack froze in his bed. Rogers draped himself on a chair and folded his fingers. They stared at each other.

“Jack, Jack, Jack.” Rogers finally said, “Have you finally learned your lesson?” Jack didn’t respond and Rogers _tsked_ under his breath. “When I say, _come here_ , you do it.” He crooked his finger. “Come here, Jack.”

Jack squeezed his eyes shut. Images of Rumlow and now, even after the revelations of the day, the Magistrate suffering Rogers’ toxic touch flickered in his mind. He felt his foot touch the cold stone floor and the other followed it. He looked down at his feet and wondered why they were moving. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t _not_ do this.

Rogers stood and curled his chilly finger under Jack’s chin. He lifted up Jack’s chin and stared with cold blue eyes into Jack’s for what seemed an eternity. Then he smiled and Jack nearly pissed himself. “That wasn’t so hard. Now was it?” He turned on his heel and started to walk out. "Always making trouble for yourself, son."

“Why did you do that?” Jack said, the words flowed out of his lips in a torrent, “Why did you hurt him? Just to get to me? I’m nothing. You’re a god here. You’ve got your own kingdom for fucks’ sake.”

The massive black-clad shadow paused and then shrugged. “He was convenient. And I never said I wasn’t a _jealous_ god.”

Jealous? Oh fuck no. Jack swallowed. "He called you James, didn't he?"

Rogers tapped his hand against his thigh as if he were pondering something, then he huffed a short bitter laugh. “When did you get to be so smart, Peaches? Don’t worry about the Commander. I just did a little counter programming, that’s all. Eventually, he’ll call _me_ Master instead of James Buchanan Barnes. After all, I did learn from the best.”

Jack said recklessly, “You’ve always thought of him as your soulmate and when you finally got your hands on the _real_ Commander, you found out that Barnes got to him first. You can’t handle sloppy seconds, can you? It’s as simple as that, isn’t it?”

Rogers squared his shoulders and returned to Jack’s side. “When you lay here in the dark, who do you think of?” He purred into Jack’s ear. “That’s right. You think about me. You’ll always belong to me, Jack.” He kissed Jack on the forehead, sweetly. The touch of those pink lips chilled Jack’s blood. “So go about pretending that you can have a life without me. Try to convince yourself that you can get by. I’m always going to be the shadow lurking in the corner of your eye.” He winked. “That rhymed. Poet and I didn’t even know it.”

“You’re insane.” Jack breathed, frozen in place.

“Possibly. You should keep that in mind when you piss me off, son. Try not to get too attached to this place. I’m already getting tired of not having indoor plumbing.”

And with that, he strode out of the room. Jack heard Rogers say, “Good evening, your honor.” He whistled his way down the hallway.

And the Magistrate rushed into Jack’s chambers. He took Jack’s hand, checked him quickly from head to toe and then clutched him to his chest. The older man’s heart thumped hard and Jack’s guilt compounded. “Oh my young one. My heart. My son.”

The Magistrate petted his hair, rocked back and forth while he muttered comforting phrases in a language that Jack didn’t comprehend. When the Magistrate kissed Jack upon the forehead, the only lips he could feel were Rogers’ icy ones branded upon his soul.

“I’m fine.” Jack lied. “I’m fine.”


	34. Chapter 34

He had dirt and oil caked in places he’d never even considered before, Jack thought, as he scrubbed his skin. A trip to the barracks to supervise the Magistrate’s troops had turned into an impromptu wrestling exhibition. The Magistrate had beamed with pride as Jack took down a few of his top recruits. It felt a little like cheating to use the hand to hand techniques he’d learned in SHIELD, but it got the job done. He reamed out his ear and flushed it clean. 

It had been a few days since the _incident_. Jack had visited often, but the Commander was so loopy and drugged up that his visits hardly registered. The visits were more for Jack’s guilt than any offering of comfort. He knew that. Jack toweled off and stepped out of the steaming hot water. 

Maria was standing in his bedchambers. She handed him his trousers and said, “You must come quickly.” Jack dressed and followed her to the infirmary. 

Rumlow was surrounded by attendants while he moaned in delirium. Sweat beaded on his feverish skin. Jack felt his forehead, “He’s burning up. I need my bags.” The attendant looked confused. “My black gear bags, damn it! The stuff you confiscated. There’s medicine in those.” 

“The god took those as an offering, my lord.” Maria said softly. Rumlow clutched at the bedding and she replaced the cool cloth on his forehead.

“Then you find the _god_ and tell him to get his ass back here.” Jack hissed. “He needs a doctor. A real doctor and he’s not going to find one here.” Jack brushed back Rumlow’s sweat-drenched hair as Maria left his side. “It’s gonna be okay buddy. It’s gonna be okay.” 

The Magistrate held up his hand and everyone in the room paused. “It is the blood-pox. You must say farewell to your companion, young one.” Jack’s eyes widened, “He will not last the night. We will burn him with full honors and you will see him again in the afterlife. That is life and death.” 

“It’s just an infection. We need antibiotics and fever medicines. He’s not going to die from this unless I let him. And I won’t do that.” Jack stared back at the Magistrate with steel in his spine and his jaw set resolutely. Then he said something that he’d never thought he would, “I need Rogers. And I need him now. We have to get Brock to a real doctor.” 

The corner of the Magistrate’s eye twitched in annoyance. “The god has left on some whim of his. I know not where he is.” 

“Then I’ll find him. He’s got fucking great ears.” Jack patted Rumlow’s shoulder and stood up. He strode over to the door and the guards blocked his exit. “You’d better move.” Jack said with determination. 

A strong arm snaked around his neck and a moist cloth covered his nose and mouth. _Fucking hell_ , Jack thought as his knees crumpled, _he drugged me_ _again_. Then his vision went black. 

 

Jack awoke in a stone walled jail cell. He staggered over to the barred window and peered out. He’d lost a few hours of time. Time that Rumlow didn’t have. “Let me out of here!” he cried, but there was no answer. 

The Magistrate was teaching him a lesson. All the fond thoughts that Jack had towards the man withered and died. “Rogers!” Jack screamed until he was hoarse. Jack sat down on the pile of straw and covered his face with his hand. _Why am I so fucking helpless all the time?_ He threw a pebble against the wall. _Why did I think that Rogers would help me?_

One last time, Jack bellowed with all his might, “Rogers! I need you!” 

 

There was a clamor in the hallway. Jack stuck his face out between the door bars and peered into the hall. A guard flew against the bars and landed in a crumpled heap of limbs. 

“The things I do for you, _Peaches_.” Rogers’ voice cut through the gloom. He had Rumlow over his shoulder and their gear bags in his other hand. “That should delay them for a few minutes.”

“Move,” he ordered, then with one tremendous kick broke the door off the hinges. Rogers dumped the gear and an unconscious Rumlow on the floor, grabbed a fistful of Jack’s waistband and blew a handful of sparkling dust into Jack’s gaping mouth. 

Jack sputtered and wiped at his face. “What the hell was that?” His face felt instantly flushed and his cock twitched with an frantic urgency. There was one thought burning in his brain. _Sex._ All other coherent thoughts were burnt out by a loop of _fuck or get fucked._ “Oh my god!” 

“I raided the warehouse. Got some souvenirs.” Rogers grinned. “They call it _sex pollen_ —“ Rogers couldn’t finish his sentence before Jack leapt upon him, grinding his crotch against his hard thigh muscles. “Well now!” 

Jack’s fingers eagerly sought out Rogers’ fly and drew out his massive length. Jack didn’t hesitate, he couldn’t, he couldn’t even spare a thought for breathing and he lavished Rogers’ cock with sloppy spittle drenched kisses. He heard the super soldier’s breath sharply hitch as he gagged himself with increasing ferocity until Rogers grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled Jack off his dick. Rogers’ face was slick with sweat and his eyes glowed with lust. “Now, now son. It’s not _my_ cock that gets us out of this shithole.” 

Jack strained against the vise tight grip on his hair, his mouth opened and shut with greedy sloppy noises of need and desperation. “Oh god,” he whimpered, “Just fuck me.” He pulled his trousers down and off one leg, kicked them to the side, freeing his cock. It was swollen with desire, leaking dribbles of arousal down the shaft. 

Rogers’ eyebrows lifted and a small smile quirked his lips. He sat down on the floor and tossed a bottle of slick at Jack. Then he looped the gearbags’ handles around his leg and curled his arm around the limp Rumlow’s waist. “I suppose. If you ask me nicely.” He sighed theatrically as if he were doing Jack a huge favor. 

Jack didn’t answer, he was too engrossed in cramming as many slick fingers up his ass as he could. It barely took the edge off of the burning desire that made his Asgardian tattoo light up like a flare in the gloom. Three felt great, four would be _better._

“Deja vu. Greedy boy.” Rogers muttered as he crooked his finger at Jack who scrambled in haste to get to Rogers’ side. He straddled Rogers’ lap, felt the thick blunt head press against his asshole and sank down upon it. Was it his groan or Rogers’ that echoed against the stone walls? Jack lifted himself up with his thighs and then speared himself on the downthrust. 

Each stroke made the fever in his mind clear just a bit, until Jack could finally look at Rogers’ face as he rode him. His lips were parted in bliss, slack with lustful pleasure and Jack gave into the wild, shameful impulse to claim those lips with his own. Rogers’ eyebrows shot up in surprise as Jack kissed him sweetly in gratitude for the rescue. Jack clung to his shoulders as they rocked in abandon, the tattoo glowed with a blinding light. 

Rogers started chanting against Jack’s mouth as he wrapped his hand around Jack’s cock. The door to the jail flung open and the Magistrate rushed into the hallway, he held up his hand to shield his eyes from the intense light. “Jack!” He cried out and held out his hand. Rogers’ grip on Jack’s cock tightened and he thrust his hips up, snapping into Jack. Jack threw back his head, shuddered and suddenly was falling… falling… falling…

 

They landed in a wilderness, scared a flock of lizard-like birds and Rogers shook his head. "Nope." He sucked a bruise into the soft flesh at the crook of Jack's flushed throat and Jack, still in the thrall of the dust, keened with delight. Rogers chanted the phrase and thrust hard, spearing Jack until the light flared again and they fell… 

 

The city was modern, almost too clean. Rogers pushed Jack off of his dick and looked about. He tucked himself back in his pants as Jack knelt whining on the ground at his feet. "Pull yourself together, son," he lectured Jack and hailed a bewildered passerby. "Excuse me, ma'am. Where might I find a doctor or a hospital in this lovely city?" 

The woman pointed at a shiny chrome booth that Jack had thought was a public toilet. "There's an AutoDoc, right there." Jack hurriedly pulled his trousers back on. 

Rogers smiled and nodded with a small bow that made the woman's cheeks flush before she hurried off. He heaved Rumlow over his shoulder and snapped his fingers at Jack who, to his eternal shame, followed like a loyal dog with the gear. They crowded into the booth. 

Rogers put Rumlow on the low bench next to a machine with many, many buttons. "Now how do you work this _fucking_ thing?" 

" _Language_!" Rumlow blurted out and then slumped back into senselessness. 

"I should have left you there." Rogers rolled his eyes and slapped the counter.

A mechanical female voice answered, "Please touch the genetic sampler. Charges will be deducted from your account automatically." Rogers grabbed Jack's sticky hand and slapped it upon the glowing plate. It turned red, then green. "Thank you. Please indicate the patient." Another button glowed above Rumlow and Jack pressed it. "The privacy screen will now deploy. Please wait." 

Jack's trousers slipped down his hip and unconsciously he rubbed his palm over the swell of his ass. Rogers' gaze tracked his movements like a predator. Jack was still flushed and aroused, even after his orgasms. That sex pollen was powerful shit. "I thought I was going to die, if I didn't.." Jack muttered. 

"If you didn't what?" Rogers prompted, his eyes narrowed to slits. 

"If I didn't get fucked. It still feels like… like I'm hollow inside. You didn't have to drug me. I wanted to get out of there." Jack ran his fingers down his abdominal muscles, Rogers’ eyes followed his caresses. 

Rogers shrugged. "I didn't feel like waiting for your pesky morales to make the right call." He licked his lips and prompted curiously, "You feel _hollow_? Even after all that cock inside you?“ 

Jack closed his eyes and shivered at the memory. "Yeah. Like the burn, the survival instinct is still there, but it's muted. Like I went too fast, too hard. Didn't really appreciate or savor it." It was a stupid conversation to be having, but in the safety and privacy of the AutoDoc with the sex pollen loosening both his lips and his inhibitions, Jack didn’t care. “Like it could have felt—?” 

“Go on.” Rogers prompted. 

“It could have felt _really great_ , I guess.” Jack sighed. “Stupid. I know. You hate me. I hate you for many, many fucking good reasons. Stupid.” 

Rogers stood up and loomed over Jack, pressed him up against the wall. “I never said that I _hated_ you, Jack. Don’t put words in my mouth. There are much better uses for it.” Jack melted in Rogers’ arms and allowed himself to be held as Rogers kissed him. The terrible strength in those arms did little to shock Jack back to his senses.

“You said that you were going to flay me and use my skin as an afghan on the back of my red leather couch.” Jack said when they broke apart. 

“I can think of much better things to do on that red leather couch now.” 

Jack shook his head and tried to push Rogers away. “This is crazy. You’ve beat me up, cut me up, raped me and tried to kill me. Now you’re being all mushy? Knock it off, quit playing with me."

Rogers’ mouth opened and closed, but before he could respond the AutoDoc announced, “The patient has been infused, cleansed and restored to optimal physical and mental condition. Please take the supply of medication patches dispensed in the hopper to your right.” A white cube popped out of the wall with a ding! “Thank you for using AutoDoc.” 

The privacy screen retracted and Rumlow sat up with lurch. “What the motherfucking hell happened to me?” He rubbed his face. “We jumped again? There’s no goddamned armored octopi to fight here, right?” Rumlow swung his legs over the edge of the bench. “Why are you both looking at me like that? Did I grow a second dick? And why are you making out?” He raised an eyebrow in confusion. 

Rogers grinned and released Jack from his embrace. “Restored to optimal physical and mental condition. Son, you just had a full body colonic and complementary brain bleaching. ” He leaned forward, peering at Rumlow’s eyes. “What’s it feel like to have years of conditioning stripped from your mind?” 

“Like two weeks of vacation and a spa day.” Rumlow raised his chin and stretched out his arms. “How the fuck should I know? I just know that I don’t feel like puking my guts out due to you guys’ potty mouths.” His back was perfectly mended, not a hint remained of the mayhem that Rogers had inflicted. Jack was suddenly jealous and he made a movement towards the bench. 

“Oh no you don’t.” Rogers grabbed Jack’s wrist. “You’re not getting your tattoo removed. We can’t take that chance.” 

“Oh come on!” Jack exclaimed, “Just look at me! I’m a mess!” Rogers looked away from him. “Come on Rumlow.” 

“Captain Crazy has a good point.” Rumlow grinned, “I feel like I’m twenty again! This place is amazing—“

A loud siren blared. “This is the police!” 

Jack and Rumlow both groaned and pointed at Rogers. “This is your fault.”

“I haven’t done anything here. _Yet_.” Rogers protested and unsheathed his blade.

“Jack Rollins! Exit the AutoDoc and surrender! You are under arrest for three counts of homicide, ten counts of armed robbery, thirteen counts of extortion and bribery and three counts of interstellar piracy!” 

Rogers grabbed the cube of medication from the hopper and stowed it, then he sank to his knees. “I’ve got this one,” he told Rumlow, then Jack’s head slammed back against the wall as Rogers did his thing. 

“Try for Tahiti this time. Someplace warm. With umbrella drinks.” Rumlow joked as he gathered the gear and stepped in to assist once Rogers needed to chant.

_At this rate_ , Jack thought, _I’m going to sprout wood just from hearing a siren._ Then he closed his eyes and together they fell…

 

 


	35. Chapter 35

 

Jack heard Rumlow’s cackling laughter before he opened his eyes. “Son of a bitch! An honest to god deserted island!” The air smelled of the ocean and the sand beneath him was soft and warm. He was exhausted and his head throbbed like he’d done too many mystery shots. “I’m gonna go catch dinner! Make us something delicious! Oh YEAH!” 

Jack waved his hand. “Yeah, you go do that.” 

Rogers nudged Jack’s arm with the side of his booted foot. “You okay son?” 

“Your concern is touching. I need a nap. Wake me in twenty years.” Rogers snorted in derision. “Seriously, I’m exhausted and my dick is chafed.” Jack crossed his arms and frowned. 

“I would think it would be another part of you that should be complaining.”

Jack groaned. “Stop thinking about my ass. Seriously.” 

“But it’s such a pleasant ass. You’ve got a little tuft of downy fluff right above your crack. And freckles.”

_Did that fucker just comb his hair back from his forehead?_ Jack cracked an eyelid, Rogers was squatting over him and smiling fondly. “We’re not friends.” Jack pointed his finger at Rogers. “We’re _not._ ” 

“That’s right. We’re _really great_ friends. Isn’t that what you said?” Rogers tapped the tip of Jack’s nose. 

“I was drugged. By you!” Jack sputtered and went a bit cross-eyed staring at the finger on his nose. “People say stupid shit when they’re deliberately incapacitated. By you!” 

“Sure. Sure. I’ll make sure you get some sleep.” Rogers patted him on the top of his head. “Don’t go getting a crush on me Peaches. I’m no good for you.” 

Jack huffed out a sigh of protest and turned onto his side. “Truer words have never been spoken.” He closed his eyes. He would never admit it, but knowing that the jerk was standing watch over him made going to sleep in an alien world much easier. 

That was until Rogers whispered feather-soft into his ear, “Wanna spoon?” He dissolved in laughter at the way Jack curled in upon himself and plugged his ears with his fingers. 

 

Jack smelled the campfire and the scent of roasting fish, his stomach growled. He also heard the two other men conversing softly. “Now this, this is going to be some good honest campfire grub,” Rumlow said proudly. 

“Better than salmon and quinoa before sex?” Rogers asked archly. 

“Now how do you know about— Oh you bastard. You set me up with one of yours, didn’t you? Which one?” 

“Michael. Curly hair. Bit of a rat face.” 

“Oh yeah, I think I remember him. He ran out when I brought out the cuffs.” Rumlow laughed, “What did he tell you?” 

“That you cried and demanded cuddles.” Rogers sounded irritated. “I need better intelligence.” 

“Well, he did like my salmon. I use this lemon dill sauce.” Rumlow made a kiss noise. “So delicious. But seriously, if you can’t handle a little tie me up, tie me down then get the fuck out of my way. Leather straps and combat boots, yes please.” 

“Surprising that you would share that with me. Your nightlife would be a public relations disaster. I thought you were one of the good guys.”

Rumlow paused and the fire popped, “I had you fooled then. Just like the rest of the world. I haven’t decided exactly what I am yet. I only know one thing,” he threw a piece of wood on the fire, “I fucked that guy over. He was on my team, I was responsible for him and I betrayed him. And I’m going to do my damnedest to make it up to him.”

There was a long pause and Rumlow said, “Hey now, I just told you I was kinky and you blinked like I’d asked you to pass the salt. What happened to all that soulmate shit, Captain Crazy?”

“If you call me that again I will tear your tongue out.” 

“Sure, sure. I’m both relieved and a little disappointed that you don’t obsess about me anymore. What did I do to fall so low?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything. Don’t look at me like that. Fine.” Rogers said exasperatedly, “You’re not who I thought you were. I liked your evil twin better, he was _fun_. And you’re _tainted._ ”

“You say the sweetest things. Don’t worry, my poor bruised ego will heal. I’m just not good enough. Actually, that’s what Pierce said to me when they strapped me in the horrible mind-altering chair last time.” 

“I _like_ the chair.” Rogers said petulantly. 

“Oh you would.” Another long pause, “Are you sure you don’t have a new obsession? Maybe one with a beard and an inferiority complex that’s fucking stupid for someone with his skills?” Rumlow adjusted the fish and stoked the coals. “He doesn’t deserve it. You’re like walking _death_. Don’t fuck him over like I did. _Again_.”

Jack swallowed hard enough for Rogers’ superpowered ears to hear him over the roar of the campfire. He dared sneak a peek from behind his fingers.

Rogers slowly and carefully enunciated each word, ”It's a shame that profanity no longer makes you nauseated because I truly wish for you to understand the depth of my response when I say _fuck you, Brock Rumlow_." Then he stood up and stalked away from the campfire. 

“Just invite me to the wedding. I’m super generous with the registry.” Rumlow called after Rogers. “I’ve seriously got a death wish,” he muttered and smiled, the firelight painted his cheekbones as he hummed happily. 

 

The fish was delicious. Simple and beautifully cooked. Rumlow looked at Jack expectantly. “It’s really good.” Jack offered and Rumlow nodded. “I made fun of your cookbook, you know.” 

“Well, now I have to kill you.” Rumlow deadpanned and stared at Jack until Jack squirmed and Rumlow winked. “Were you thinking about islands when we jumped?” 

Jack nodded, “Palm trees actually.” 

“Me too. Rogers?” 

Rogers shrugged, “Perhaps.” 

Rumlow licked his fingers, “Maybe it’s that simple. Maybe next time we should all think about _home_.” He shrugged, “Couldn’t hurt. Jack, do you have any requests for magic dick activation?” Rumlow made a lewdly fascinating movement with his tongue.

Jack nearly choked on his fish. “What?” He pounded on his chest and coughed.

“Well, you could fuck me and Captain Cra—“ Rogers held up a warning finger, “Captain HYDRA over there could just watch. I mean he wouldn’t mind being left out, right?” Rogers glared at Rumlow and Jack felt a flush creep up his neck. 

“Um, how about I just jerk off and get a hand assist at the end? That way we can concentrate on thinking about home?” Jack offered lamely and Rogers nodded in approval. Oh hell.

Rumlow sighed, “That takes all the fun out of it.” 

 

They found themselves in a city again. Litter blew against the brick alley walls. Jack picked up a newspaper from the street.  He looked at the date on the paper, “June 24, 1938. We went back in time? Damn it!” The experiment didn't work,of course it wouldn't be that simple. Nothing was that simple. 

“This isn’t _my_ home.” Rumlow said.

Rogers snapped to attention, sniffed the air and ran his fingers on the alley wall. He turned towards Jack and Rumlow, his eyes were wide with shock. “It’s _mine._ We’re in _Brooklyn._ ”


	36. Chapter 36

 

“This can’t be.” Rogers breathed in astonishment. “This is my old neighborhood. That’s the grocers.” He pointed. “The theater. My home is just down the street.” For a moment, his face was soft and open as memories flooded back. Then his jaw was set with steely resolve. “That means Barnes is here too.” 

Rumlow protested, “Whoa big guy. We should get out of here and fast. We don’t want to fuck up the timeline! We could end up never being born! Haven’t you assholes ever watched Star Trek? You just can’t do that shit!”

Rogers pushed past Jack and Rumlow. “He’s probably down at the dock, procuring my clients.” 

“Wait? What?” Jack grabbed Rogers’ bicep and stopped him, “I don’t understand.” _Clients_? 

Rogers stared through him and his lips parted in a predatory smile that chilled Jack’s blood. “I’m going to kill James Buchanan Barnes.” And with that, he loped off down the street as Rumlow groaned and Jack’s mouth opened and shut helplessly.

“None of you have ever watched Star Trek. _Ever_!” Rumlow kicked a can, it bounced off the alley wall. “Okay, grab the gear. We can’t just wait in this alley for him to get back.”

“If one of us could say the spell, then we wouldn’t need him.” Jack said. 

“Don’t you think I’ve been trying? Every damn time he says it. I should have bought a recorder in the weirdo Alpha universe. I know my phone is dead and there’s not going to be a charger invented in the next eighty years.” Rumlow kicked another can. “Fucking hell. I do not want to live in the past. I have needs. Like microbrews and high speed streaming porn. And he’s going to go fuck everything up.” 

“What if…” Jack bit his lip. “What if we found Steve Rogers before Captain Crazypants finds Bucky Barnes?” 

“We can’t kill Rogers. That would completely fuck up the timeline. There’d be a paradox. I’m certain of it.” 

“We don’t have to kill him. Maybe, maybe we could talk to him?” Jack rubbed his beard. “You used to know everything about Rogers. You were mutual stalker buddies. Where would he be?” 

“Let’s ask around.” Rumlow shrugged. “Better than standing here scratching our asses.”

 

It didn’t take too long to find Steven Grant Rogers. “Just listen for the fucking.” One of the longshoremen had crudely told them and hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “Cheap.” 

Jack and Rumlow made their way down a back alley and they heard the unmistakable sounds of sex. There was a group of men in a circle, looking down at someone, their hands stroking their cocks. “We don’t gotta pay this time, Stevie. Bucky said that you were holdin’ out on him and you need a little reminder of your place.” The man lashed out with his foot. “Skinny bitch whore.” 

Jack dropped the bags and started to rush to aid the victim, but Rumlow held him back. Jack was about to protest when he saw that Rumlow was taking out a slender, collapsable baton. Rumlow smirked with tight lips and made the motion for Jack to hold back, concealed in the shadows. “Is this a private party?’ Rumlow announced, “Or can anyone join in?” 

“Fuck off!” One of the men yelled and Rumlow easily dodged his fist. He looked bored at their clumsy attacks, evading them before striking at vulnerable spots. It reminded Jack of the first day the STRIKE team had sparred. The Commander might not have superpowers, but he had _skill_. Jack was impressed at the ruthless, albeit _showy_ , display of prowess. And if he was impressed, the small blonde man on the ground covered in spit and semen was _gobsmacked._

“Now.” Rumlow unfurled the baton with a flick of his wrist and lashed out, stopping within a hairsbreadth of the leader’s astonished nose. “This is the part where you _run_.” The men scattered, some of them with their dicks still flopping out of their pants. 

Rumlow collapsed the baton and stowed it, then he leaned over and offered Steve his hand. “I had ‘em on the ropes.” He protested, then he took Rumlow’s hand with aweand stars in his eyes. His clothing was ripped and torn, covered in the nastiest of stains. He gathered his dignity about him like fine robes and wiped his bloodied nose on the back of his hand.

“Live close?” Rumlow asked and gestured to Jack. Steve’s face fell and he frowned. “I’m not looking to bang you kid. You need to get cleaned up and you don’t want to be looking like that walking down the street, do you?” 

“Wouldn’t be the first time. Who are you two?” There was sharp intelligence behind those blue eyes. Steven Grant Rogers before the experiment was a slip of a man, calling him a twink would be generous. It was hard for Jack to reconcile that these two men were one and the same. 

“We’re concerned citizens.” Rumlow smiled with easy charm and Jack nodded. Rumlow took out one of Jack’s spare plain grey t-shirts and offered it to Steve. 

He looked at the offer with suspicion. “What’s the catch?” 

“No catch.” Rumlow’s eye crinkled, “Ever heard about the Good Samaritan?” 

“There’s always a catch.” Steve wheezed, then he peeled off the tatters of his shirt. Bruises and cigarette burn scars dotted his protruding ribcage, a patchwork of abuse. Jack’s fingers curled into fists and his eyes narrowed. Steve caught his glance and stared back at Jack defiantly. “What’s a matter? See something you like?” He remarked snidely. 

“Who did that to you?” Jack asked, his mouth dry with the need to make someone pay for their crimes. 

Steve shrugged and pulled the t-shirt over his head. “I lose track. Kinda blends together.” He blinked and ran his fingers over the cheap knit t-shirt, “This is real nice. Soft. Are you sure you want me to have this? I can’t pay you back, not with money anyhow.” The t-shirt hung off his skeletal frame.

Rumlow nodded at Jack, “Ask him. It’s his shirt.” Jack waved his hand dismissively as if the matter was not worth discussing. Steve bit his lip and tried to comb back his hair with his fingers. 

Rumlow slapped his forehead as if he’d forgotten something, “Oh silly me. One of those mooks dropped his wallet. Do you think he’d mind if we grabbed a couple of sandwiches from the Automat?” 

Steve shook his head and looked up through his long eyelashes at Rumlow. Those were the same, Jack thought. Obscenely long and dark, the envy of most women. “I know a place.” 

“Good. Good. I’m from the Bronx myself. That makes us tourists. Give us a tour. Oh yeah, what’s your name kid?” Brock’s accent thickened as Jack listened.

“Steve.” 

Rumlow stuck out his hand and Steve shook it.“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Brock. This is Jack. But what’s important is that I’m _starving_. Practically skin and bones. Look at me.” Rumlow thumped his chest and threw his arm around Steve’s skinny shoulders and gave him a comradely squeeze. “Wastin’ away to practically nothin’. Come on Jack, grab the bags.” Steve laughed after a moment’s hesitation, it was so easy to be swept up in Rumlow’s charms. Jack knew that first hand. It didn’t matter what universe they were in.

Jack shook his head as he followed. There were no easy answers here. He should have stayed with the Magistrate or in that weird omega place. But not the vampires. This was better than the vampires. 

He just hoped that they weren’t damaging the future by interfering with the past. But honestly, the future for this kid was pretty damn fucked up.  He didn’t know what Rumlow’s endgame was but the thought of those scars on Steve’s pale skin made him queasy. They’d stopped one assault, but how many more had the boy endured? How many more times would he be beaten, raped and abused? Was that what had made him into Captain HYDRA?

Jack sighed. Maybe a little interference was okay, because he wasn’t going to stand by and see that poor kid suffer if he could help. That wasn’t what he’d signed up for when he joined SHIELD. 

_Brock Rumlow, what the fuck were you up to?_


	37. Chapter 37

They sat at a table at the Automat. Rumlow had given the money to Steve and told him to pick out whatever was good. Egg salad was never good in Jack’s opinion, but he ate it anyway and prayed that he wouldn’t catch salmonella. Rumlow joked with Steve and coaxed a few laughs out of the young man. Boy, really. Jack washed down the last bits of his sandwich with his soda and heard a man behind them say, “This place will serve anyone. Even the neighborhood trash.” 

Steve’s face stayed neutral and smooth, but the corner of his eye twitched and his hands closed into fists. Jack could see Steve bristle at the insinuations. Rumlow pivoted smoothly in his seat and pinned the loudmouth with his gaze. “Lookie here. We’re just having a nice lunch. And if you wanna start something with me and my crew, then I’ll meet you both out back. Pretty stupid to pick a fight with my family though. We’re Sicilian.” Rumlow shrugged and his arm muscles flexed. Jack did his best intimidating stare, he was just imitating Captain HYDRA honestly. It seemed to work and the two men left in a hurry. 

“You’re in the mob?” Steve asked, his eyes alight with curiosity. 

“Nah. More like acting and odd jobs.” Rumlow licked his pudding spoon. “Can’t you see this face on the silver screen?” He pointed at his cheekbones and smiled. Steve shifted in his seat and took a big bite of apple pie.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a regular matinee idol.” Jack impatiently tapped his fingers on the table.

“That makes you the comic relief.” Rumlow joked and Jack flipped him off. Steve laughed again and Jack’s heart lurched. Damn it. “We’ll walk you back to your place, okay kid?” 

Steve nodded. “Okay. But I hope you’re not expecting the Ritz.” He looked down at his hands and finished the dregs of his coffee. “When I woke up today, this wasn’t at all what I was expecting. Feels a bit like a dream.” 

“Better than a nightmare.” Jack said softly, “I’ve been having a lot of those lately.” 

Steve looked Jack up and down, taking his measure. “I can’t see you having nightmares. I can’t see you letting anyone give them to you.” Clear blue eyes stared into his and Jack swallowed back the lump in his throat. 

“You’d be surprised. Really, you would.” Jack said and Rumlow kicked him under the table. “Sorry, just being dramatic.” 

 

It wasn’t the Ritz, it wasn’t even a Motel 6. It was a tenement hovel, barely held together with nails, twine and hope. Steve opened the door and Rumlow strode through like a king entering his castle. A bare bulb hung from the ceiling and Rumlow took the only chair in the place, leaving Jack to sit on the bed. “It’s not much, but it’s home.” 

“Thanks for having us over.” Jack said and Steve blushed. He was a full body blusher and Jack was charmed. Jack stood up and looked at the sketches pinned on the wall. “Did you do these?” 

“No, I commissioned them from Rembrandt—“ Steve stopped himself from his sarcastic retort. “Yes. I drew them.” 

Jack nodded and studied the pencil and charcoal renderings. Images overlapped each other as Steve tried to save paper. He had talent in Jack’s uneducated opinion. “I can’t draw a stick figure to save my life.” 

“You’ve got other talents, Jack.” Rumlow said cryptically as he dug around in his gear bag and pulled out the AutoDoc medication cube.

“What is that?” Steve asked, he stepped in close to peer at the white cube in Rumlow’s hand.

“Top secret.” Rumlow held up his finger to his lips. “Watch.” He touched the interface screen and it sprung to life. 

“Hmm.” Rumlow said, pondering the choices on the screen. “Yes. Yes. Oh _hell_ yes. That looks good.” He punched in his choices and the cube beeped. 

After a few moments, it chirped and spat out a thin transdermal patch. “Thank you for using AutoDoc. Charges will be deducted automatically from your account. _Error_. _Error_. Will attempt transmission in 30 seconds. _Error_.”

“And what exactly is that?” Jack asked, sharing a bewildered glance with Steve. 

“A gift.” Rumlow beckoned to Steve, who was fascinated with both the device and Rumlow. “Have a seat.” Rumlow patted his leg.

“I usually charge for that.” Steve said archly, a hint of suspicion in his voice. But he obeyed and perched on Rumlow’s knee, his hands folded primly in his lap. Rumlow peeled the backing off the patch and applied it to the inside of Steve’s arm, slowly stroking the edges to adhere the plastic. Steve held his breath at the gentle touch, as if he was savoring the intimacy of the moment.

“There.” Rumlow smiled magnanimously. “A gift of good health.” 

Steve nearly busted a gut laughing. He wiped a tear from the side of his eye and said, “You’ve got to be kidding. I haven’t been healthy since the day I was born.” He blinked in surprise, “But my body doesn’t ache now—Whoa.” He swooned against Rumlow, who caught him easily. “What did you do to me?” 

“Made the nightmares go away for a little while.” Rumlow spoke with genuine sincerity and tenderly brushed blonde hair back from Steve’s forehead as he put the boy on his bed. “Remember Steve. Remember when the light has faded that there is good in this world. All you have to do is be open to finding it.” 

“You sound like a fucked up greeting card.” Jack crossed his arms. “What did you do to the kid?” The boy was passed out. 

“The AutoDoc explained how to use this device to me. I just administered a health tonic from the future. Full spectrum antibiotics. Pain killer. Sedative. Complete VD vaccination series. Vitamin booster. The fucking _works_. We’re going to have his dick up both our asses and I’m taking care of those risks. Consider it a preemptive strike against super STD’s.” Rumlow tucked the cube back in his bag. 

Rumlow kissed Steve on the forehead just to spite Jack who sputtered and turned red. “Jesus Jack. You don’t have feelings for this guy, do you? Remember what he does to you in the future. We need to find the big one now. Hopefully he hasn’t fucked up the timeline.” 

Jack covered Steve up with the thin blanket. “He’s so small and helpless. Do we have to leave him here?” 

“Yeah. We do.” Rumlow worried his lip with his teeth, then he pulled out a balisong, a butterfly knife, from the gear bag. He tucked the folded up blade in Steve’s bony, bruised hand. “There. We know he likes knives, right?” Rumlow winced as he remembered exactly how much Rogers liked using his knife. 

Jack frowned, “Does he like knives because we just gave him one?” The implications of their actions made his head hurt.

Rumlow shrugged, “Fuck if I know. Everything I learned about time travel came from TV and comic books.” 

“That makes me feel so much better Mr. Expert.” 

“We’re still here. We haven’t winked out of existence. So I think we’re good. So you just bring your magic dick and see if we can convince Rogers to jump now.” 

“I am more than just a _magic dick_.” Jack said crossly as they left the tenement. 

“That’s right. After all we’ve been through, there’s no one I’d rather have on my six.” Rumlow clapped Jack on the shoulder. 

“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that from your face.” Jack grumped. He felt so _guilty_ and he couldn’t figure out why. 

Rumlow huffed out a laugh. “Some things stay the same in every universe. And I’ve got a respect for you now that I admit wasn’t there before. A good brain-scrubbing does wonders.” 

“Are you still in love with Barnes?” Jack blurted out. Rumlow stopped mid-stride and put his hands in his pockets. “Even after everything he did to you?” 

After a few moments, Rumlow looked up at the sky and said, “God help me. I am. But I’ve made shitty calls before and I’ve got to live with the consequences of those actions. You haven’t given your heart away, Jack. Not yet. Don’t give it to Rogers. You don’t deserve that kind of pain.” 

“I don’t— I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jack stammered and pushed past Rumlow. 

“Would it help if I made it an order?” Rumlow tilted his head to the side, “I order you to not fall in love with Captain Crazypants.” 

“You’re the crazy one. That’s fucking ridiculous.” Jack’s ears burned red. 

“Sure it is. I don’t like being the third wheel, you know. I’m used to being the center of attention.” Rumlow shook his head. “Come on, let’s find the bastard and see what damage we’ve done. Maybe he’s a redhead now. Wouldn’t that be freaky?” 

 

Captain Crazypants was huddled in a miserable ball in the same alley that they’d arrived in. He rocked back and forth in the filth, cradling his head in his hands as he moaned incoherently. 

“Oh shit.” Rumlow muttered and held out his arm to hold back Jack. Jack didn’t hesitate. He rushed to Rogers’ aid past Rumlow’s guard. He knelt on the ground next to Rogers and grabbed his hand. 

“Rogers.” He spoke louder, “Rogers! It’s Jack.” In response to his voice, Rogers lifted his head, his gaze was far off and clouded. He lifted his arms like a child and Jack enfolded him in his embrace. “Shh. Shh. It’s okay. It’s okay.” Jack crooned while stroking Rogers’ hair. 

“It’s not okay.” Rogers said against his neck. “I _failed_ ,” he said miserably, his face damp with tears and snot. “Couldn’t find him. I forgot. I forgot that he was in Connecticut visiting his aunt. My one chance to settle things, to fix things and I _failed._ ” This display of honest emotion was incredibly off-putting and Jack knew that they’d changed more than just one afternoon in the past. 

Rogers clung to Jack while Rumlow looked on impassively. “I don’t know what to do. What do I do Jack?” Rogers begged, “I’m so lost.” 

“We should jump. Get away from here.” Rumlow said. “The farther away we are the less it will hurt.” 

Rogers glared at Rumlow over Jack’s shoulder. “I believed in you. You were my hero. You were going to be my redemption and you failed me too!” Rumlow rubbed his face. “Yeah, I remember you. You and Jack here. You sweet talked me and made me hope. You cruel bastard. You made me _hope_. How could you do that?” 

“We couldn’t just stand by.” Rumlow offered lamely.

“Bullshit. Everyone else did.” Rogers pushed Jack away, he landed against the wall with a thud and lay there dazed. Rogers’ mouth opened and shut in shock, he’d never showed any remorse for violence before. “Oh my god! Jack. I’m so sorry—“ Then he glared at Rumlow, “This is your fault! You had to be a _hero_. You bastard.” He gathered Jack up in his arms and stood. 

“Sure. I’m a bastard. But when you were suffering, when you had your darkest days, don’t tell me that you didn't look back on today and let it give you strength. You’re not a liar, Steven Grant Rogers. I’m not looking for gratitude, fuck that. We have a score to settle with your pimp and my erstwhile lover, don’t we? So don’t go playing like we don’t have a mission to complete.” Rumlow squared his shoulders, “And if you’ve fucked up our way out of here, I’m going to be really pissed off.”

“I’m okay,” Jack muttered, “Thanks for your concern.” He sagged in Rogers’ arms. “If you’re going to kill me just get it over with. I’m so tired.”

“That might be a concussion. Let me get the medication cube.” 

Rogers stared at the cube in Rumlow’s hand. “That thing.” He blinked in recognition. “A gift of good health. That’s the only reason I survived the serum experiment. I’m sure of it.” 

“You’re welcome.” Rumlow said, punching in a painkiller. 

“I didn’t say _thank you_.” Rogers hissed and clutched Jack so tightly that he cried out in pain. Rumlow raised an eyebrow, gathered the gear and slapped the patch on Jack’s arm. 

“We better jump soon before the drugs kick in.” He reached inside Jack’s waistband. “Think you can get it up?” 

“There’s always the sex pollen,” Rogers offered, trying to be helpful. 

“No!” Jack yelped. “Not that. I can do this.” 

“That’s because you’re such a _good boy_.” Rogers crooned in his ear. To Jack’s eternal shame the praise was just as, or even more arousing than when Rumlow said it. “Sweet thing, I promise I’ll never hurt you again.” Rumlow made a skeptical noise. “I promised Jack. _Not you._ ” Rogers snapped. 

“Raincheck on the bodily mutilation please.” Jack was pressed between the two bickering men and he closed his eyes, stroking himself. “Think about the Triskelion, 2012.” Jack tried his best, but all he wanted to think about was the closeness of their bodies pressing against his, protecting him. Then Rumlow’s nimble fingers danced upon his cock and Jack felt himself falling… 

 

Jack opened his eyes to stare into the muzzle of a rifle. Rumlow was beside him, holding up his hands in surrender. Rogers, of course, was nowhere to be found. Jack was just grateful that his pants were on and his dick wasn’t hanging out. 

A woman with dark close cropped hair and incredible cheekbones held the gun trained upon them and she spoke into her earpiece. “Agent Rumlow here. Lost the Asgardian, but I’ve got guests.” 

Rumlow’s mouth fell open. “Your name is Rumlow?” 

“Yeah. Agent Veronica Rumlow.” Rumlow started laughing until he nearly wept. She stared at him with a raised eyebrow that was also very familiar. “That’s not usually the reaction I get when I capture someone.” 

Rumlow pointed at the emblem on his t-shirt. “Commander Brock Rumlow of SHIELD. This gonna be one hell of a story.” He grinned at her and she kicked at his foot with her boot. “Oh don’t worry, I surrender. Who’s the Director in this world?”

“Director Fury. But you don’t get to talk to her until after I’m done with you.” 

“Ma’am after what we’ve been through, it would be an utter pleasure. Come on Jack,” Rumlow ran his tongue over his teeth and said gleefully, “We’re prisoners of SHIELD.” 


	38. Chapter 38

Veronica held out the cuffs and Rumlow held out his arms. She slapped the cuffs on him and he smiled at her. She shook her head at him and crooked her eyebrows, “You’re an odd one.” 

“Tell me about it.” Jack muttered as another agent cuffed him. 

Veronica seemed as entranced by Rumlow as he was by her. Jack sighed. Was that what he looked like when he met the Magistrate?  The gender disparity was bizarre, there were black-clad women everywhere and all of them were armed. He looked about. Where the hell was Rogers? Last time he’d run off, he’d sold them into slavery and declared himself a god. Well, that was before Rumlow had actually played God and fucked with Rogers' past and their futures. 

Would Steve just run off and leave him?

_Wait_. When did he start thinking about Rogers as _Steve_? Jack looked at his shoes, his brow furrowed. _Oh hell_. He swallowed back an oath. He was loaded on a personnel carrier with Rumlow and the doors slammed behind them. 

Rumlow tapped his foot on the diamond-printed plate floor. He whistled cheerfully. “You know? I missed these old paddy-wagons. I did.” He leaned back against the wall. “Homesick. That’s what I was.” 

“I’m so happy that you’re happy to be in handcuffs and going away to a black site for the rest of our natural lives. You know that’s what’s going to happen, don’t you?” 

Rumlow shrugged, “Nah. I’ve got a plan.” 

“Your plan seems to be making goo goo eyes at your girl twin.” 

“No, that’s a bonus. Man, she’s easy on the eyes, isn’t she?” Rumlow licked his lips.

“You just like people who can beat you up.” Jack grumped. “She could totally kick your ass.” 

“God I hope so.” Rumlow breathed lustily and Jack elbowed him. “Ouch. Bet you I get a private interrogation with her later.” Jack scowled at Rumlow and he smirked, “Okay, right now they’re talking about who is going to debrief us. That’s what we’d do. And we’re under surveillance, see that pinhole camera there? Standard SHIELD issue. Didn’t I teach you any of this shit?” Brock said in exasperation.

“No. I was in intensive care for a while.” 

Rumlow was silent for a moment, then he nodded. “I deserved that. I did. I did. So anyways, I’ll just announce that my name is Commander Brock Rumlow and that I’m invoking protocol Delta Seven Niner and that I demand to speak to a level three or higher. That should work.” He closed his eyes. “Seriously Jack, you just have to know how to work the system. And I was on top of the system.” 

Suddenly, the transport doors were ripped off their hinges and flung off into the night. Rogers stood in the doorway, barely breathing hard. 

Rumlow rolled his eyes. “Or we could do _that._ ”

“Are you okay, Jack? Get out,” he ordered and gestured behind him. “We can—!“ And then Jack blinked and Rogers was flat on the ground. A dark blue clad figure straddled his chest. A red, white and blue shield was pressed against his throat. 

“Stand down.” It was a woman. Of course, it was. A woman that could take down Captain HYDRA? “Surrender and we will negotiate.” 

Steve’s eyes were wide with shock, then a cunning smile spread over his lips. “About damn time.” 

He bucked off the woman and sprang to his feet, his eyes gleaming with delight.Jack watched in horror as the two evenly matched warriors fought to take the other down. Steve’s knife sparked as it sliced across the woman’s shield. Steve knocked it away, stabbed and she nimbly dodged, then flipped in a cartwheel that ended with a kick to Steve’s solar plexus. Steve went down hard and sprawled in the dirt, his face contorted in rage. He looked— he looked like the boy in the alley, covered in filth with only his pride to guard him. When Steve got up, he was going to kill everyone here and not even his doppelgänger would be able to stop the slaughter, Jack was sure of it.

“Jack! Stop!” Why was Rumlow screaming at him? 

Oh. _That’s why._

Jack ran in front of the woman, shielded Steve with his own body and held up his handcuffed wrists in surrender. “Stop! Don’t hurt him! Please!” Jack turned to Steve and clutched at his uniform, the death’s-head was thankfully dimmed.“I’m here, I’m here Steve. You don’t have to do this. You’re better than this.” Steve stared at him in astonishment, mud on the side of his face. Then he looked down at his blade and back at Jack’s stricken face. “You promised me.” Jack whispered. 

Steve dropped his knife. 

Jack turned back to the woman. She drew back her cowl. Her thick wavy blonde hair was a match for Steve’s and her blue-eyed gaze took in Jack’s panting body. “Looks like we have a lot to talk about. I’m Stella Rogers. They call me Captain America.” 

Jack’s heart felt like it was going to explode in his chest. “Jack Rollins. And this is Steve Rogers. He’s Captain— America too. We’re not from around here.” He scrunched up his face in apology. “Asgardian magic. We’re just trying to get home.” 

“Well, not too fast.” Rumlow said as he jumped out of the transport. “What day is it?” 

“Tuesday.” Stella said, regarding Rumlow the same way that Veronica had earlier. Jesus Christ, who didn’t want to bone Brock Rumlow here? Rumlow smiled up at her with his easy charm. 

“Tuna Casserole Tuesday. Right?” A murmur spread through the assembled agents. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had commisary food and I’m fucking homesick for it. Please tell me there’s those vegan chocolate chip cookies with the orange zest in them? Those were the only good part of Murphy’s veganism.” 

“You know Agent Murphy?” Stella asked curiously.

“I know _an_ Agent Murphy. But I bet she volunteers at stray cat shelters and uses agave nectar in everything. Right?” More murmurs. “My Murphy is named Isaac, yours would be… Isabella? Irene?” He clucked his tongue in thought. 

“Oh she fucking wishes.” Veronica said, “Try Izzy.”

“Oh.” Rumlow grinned. “That fits.” 

Steve coughed and everyone’s head swiveled back to the dangerous man on the ground, he slowly stood up and brushed the dirt off his ass. Then he offered Jack his hand, hauled him up to his feet. He draped his arms over Jack’s shoulders possessively, “These men are under my protection.” He nuzzled into Jack’s hair and Jack felt his face turn red, “If you hurt them, I will burn your world to the ground.” The two titans stared at each other, until Steve smiled with a lopsided grin. “I’m probably joking about that. Probably.” 

“Your version of Captain America, huh?” Veronica said to Rumlow. “What kind of fucked up world do you come from?” 

“I’ll tell you over coffee.” Rumlow said without taking his gaze away from Rogers and Jack. “Then I’m making dinner.”

Veronica didn’t hesitate. “Deal. Now get your asses back in the other van. The one with doors. You invoked protocol Delta Seven Niner and we’re taking you to Director Fury.”

“I’ll join them.” Stella said. “Those cuffs won’t hold him.” Steve raised his eyebrows in a gesture of agreement. Stella picked up the blade from the dirt, admired its keen edge. “Vibranium?” Steve nodded. “Beautiful balance.” Then she stomped on the edge of her shield and it flipped up to her arm, she threaded her arm through the straps with unconscious ease. The three men were impressed. 

“I _like_ that.” Steve said into Jack’s hair. “We should get me one of those.”

“The shield?” Jack asked, still trembling with adrenaline and asking himself why he did something that fucking _stupid._

“The shield too.” Steve quipped, then he said against Jack’s neck, “Do I have to be a _good_ guy now? Are we going to play pretend, Jack?” Jack nodded. “Then you have to pretend to be my lover. Can you do that? That’s the only way I’ll play along in this world of Amazons.” Jack swallowed and nodded again. 

Steve took Jack’s arm gallantly and escorted him to the transport. He said to Veronica as he climbed the step, “Watch out for that one. He likes to cook dinner before he beds you. Salmon and quinoa?” Rumlow glared at Steve the entire trip to the Triskelion while Veronica did nothing to disguise her amusement with the entire fiasco. Jack rested his head against Steve’s shoulder and tried to nap as they bickered and bantered. If they bunked together, he was positive that Rogers wasn’t going to be letting him get any beauty rest.

That wasn't as unpleasant as thought as it usually was. Jack sighed. He had to have a concussion to be thinking shit like that.


	39. Chapter 39

 

 

Director Nicole Fury rapped her fingers on her desk and peered at the ragged trio of men sitting in front of her. “So, let me break this down. You’re from an alternate universe where _men_ are in charge and you’ve been jumping from universe to universe in an attempt to get home. And you do this with,” she waved her hand and frowned, “What exactly?”

“Magic.” Jack said sheepishly. “Asgardian magic. I don’t understand it either.” They’d all decided not to mention exactly what rites they had to perform. For one thing, it was just fucking _embarrassing_. Although Jack would have gladly spilled his guts if it meant that Steve would stop holding his hand. Seriously. He kept stroking the underside of Jack’s palm with his thumb and escorting him every where. Jack had had to lock the bathroom door just to take a piss in solitude. 

“Uh huh.” Director Fury said. She was not impressed. “Your DNA tests are fascinating. Nearly identical to our agents.”

“With the exception of that pesky Y chromosome, right?” Rumlow smiled at the Director and when she didn’t take the bait, he smiled at the agent seated behind her. What was his name again? Martin Hill? His sharp bright eyes missed nothing andreminded Jack of the harem mistress back on the Magistrate’s world. 

“But until you give me something that shows that you have more knowledge than a few simple protocol codes, I’m more inclined to just declare you enemy combatants and lock you away with the rest of the mysteries.” Director Fury leaned forward on her elbows and propped her hands on her chin. “Impress me gentlemen.” 

Steve spoke for the first time, he’d been silent for the entire interrogation. “As you wish.” He tapped on the medallion on his tactical suit. The HYDRA deaths-head glowed red and everyone other than Steve inhaled in shock. Agent Hill aimed his sidearm at Steve’s head. 

“Fuck!” Rumlow exclaimed and Jack was stunned speechless at the sheer brazen stupidity of the reveal. They were never getting out of here now.

“Explain.” Director Fury said after slamming down the ultra security protocol button, her eyes flinty. “Or you’re going in the basement of the deepest black site we have for the rest of your lives.” 

Steve tapped the emblem and it blackened. “I was not Captain America. I was Captain HYDRA. In our world the serum was developed by the Axis. I have observed in our travels that in any world where there is a super-soldier, there is also HYDRA. Like two sides of the same coin. You’re riddled with double agents.” Steve took Jack’s hand again, massaged his fingers in a terrible pantomime of intimacy. “I can think of at least two likely candidates right now, in fact.” Jack fought the urge to squirm in his chair.

“Why would you tell us this?” Agent Hill demanded. “Why would you betray your organization?”

“Tell me,” Steve said smoothly, “Did Stella Rogers volunteer for the serum?” Director Fury nodded. “I did _not_. I was conscripted and experimented upon against my will. I owe no loyalty to HYDRA. They never used me effectively either, only as a blunt object. A waste of a fine weapon. I’m delighted to help you burn them out, to cauterize the infection. But I have a condition.”

“What is it?” Director Fury gestured and Agent Hill holstered his gun.

“Do not keep my Jack and I apart. If I’m separated from my dearest, I’m not sure what I might do to become reunited with him.” Steve smiled beatifically then he held up his finger. “And I want my knife back.”

“That’s two conditions.” Fury folded her hands and stared at Steve evenly, as if he hadn’t just rocked her worldview in a few seconds. 

“I’ll give you two locations to go investigate. You’d better send your most trusted and loyal men though. I wouldn’t recommend anyone on STRIKE.” Steve started to play with the hair on the nape of Jack’s neck. “It’s quite interesting speaking to this version of yourself, Madame Director.” 

“Why is that?” 

“You’re not missing an eye, yet. Makes it easier to converse like equals. In my world, _you_ were the head of HYDRA. Well, one of the heads. They’re terribly literal.” 

“Who is the head here?” Agent Hill demanded. 

“I can’t give you all my secrets at once. That’s no way to negotiate.” Steve wriggled his finger at Agent Hill. “I’ll give you the two site locations. You pretend like nothing is amiss and let my companions and I roam about the Triskelion like harmless honored guests. We’ll be bait, of course. A third super-soldier on this world? That’s bound to attract attention.”

“What do you mean, _third_?” Director Fury asked. “This intel better check out, Mr. Rogers.” 

“Mr. Rogers was my father, please, call me Steve.” 

Director Fury leaned back in her chair and focused her attention squarely on Jack. “Mr. Rollins. Do you wish to room with Mr. Rogers?” Jack nodded as Steve squeezed the nape of his neck. “Agent Hill will find you quarters. Feel free to explore the common areas and use our services such as the gymnasium and the behavioral health counselors. You’ve had a traumatic experience. It might help to ease your minds to speak to a trained professional.” 

Rumlow coughed. “Sorry ma’am, but the only special chair I’m sitting in will be the barber’s chair, if you get me.”

“As you wish,” Director Fury stood up. “My goodwill only extends as far as your intel checks out. Dismissed.” She turned her back to them and Agent Hill walked over to lead them out of her office. 

Steve said, with one cold hand on the small of Jack’s back under his shirt, “We’re going to be great friends, Director. Because there’s nothing I like better than sparking a fire. This beautiful organization of secrets and lies is going to _burn_ once you verify that I’m telling the truth.” Rogers grinned, “It’s going to be _glorious_.” 

 

“I can’t believe you did that!” Jack exclaimed in Rogers’ face once they were in their shared quarters. “I thought you were going to pretend to be a good guy! Wasn’t that the plan?” 

Steve was non-plussed at Jack’s outburst. “It seemed like a terrible bother. And I’m not really that good at pretending to be on the side of the angels.” Steve sat down on the bed and took off his boots. “People do tend to forget that the angels are just as terrifying as the demons.” He stretched out and patted the bed with his hand, eyes hooded with dubious intent. “Cushy.”

Jack crossed his arms. “I’m not sleeping with you.” 

“There’s only one bed. You made it, you might as well lie in it.” Steve’s eyebrows knitted together and he admonished, “Don’t make me say it.” 

“Say what?” Jack swallowed hard, his dick twitching in spite of everything his brain was screaming.

Steve slowly enunciated each word and crooked his finger. “ _Come here Jack_.” 

Jack took one step forward, cursing his weakness. “We’re not going to do this, are we?” Another step and he was within reach of Steve’s long powerful arms and Rogers ensnared him. 

“We have to keep up appearances my pet.” He sounded so calm and reasonable. Jack closed his eyes. “We’re under observation right now. Let’s put on a show.” Rogers spoke into his ear, a low rumbling purr that went straight to his loins. 

“I thought you might not think so fondly of me after what we did to you.” Jack murmured. It was so easy to just turn off that screaming alarm in the back of his brain. All he had to do was submit. 

“All those years, I wanted to fuck the Commander. And I wanted to punish him for abandoning me. It was easy to be bitter, Jack. I fear I’ve mellowed in my old age. You’ve become familiar to me.”

“I thought familiarity bred contempt?” 

“Or fondness. I’ll never say that to another soul, never admit that weakness. That’s what it is. Weakness. You’ve wounded me Jack. Now you have to help mend me.” 

“That— that is such bullshit.” Jack flushed scarlet. 

“It is. It is. But I adore this shade of red.” He stroked Jack's cheekbone. “Now, are you ready to commit to this charade or would you like a hit of that pollen? I think I saved some of it…” Steve patted one of his concealed pockets. 

“God no!” Jack struggled to little avail. “That shit is bad news. All I wanted was sex and it didn’t even feel that great. And if you’re going to be doing it, you might as well enjoy it, right?” Then he looked at the self-satisfied smirk on Rogers’ face. 

“I can make you enjoy it, Jack. Break you down into a quivering mess and then lick it up. Do you doubt me?” He pushed Jack slowly down onto the mattress and then straddled him. He stripped the clothing off of Jack leisurely, enjoying every squirm as Jack shifted under his gaze and lingering touches. “I thought we were friends, Jack.”

“We’re never going to be friends.” Jack screwed his eyes shut as Steve alternated between nipping his neck with his sharp teeth and soothing the tender skin with his tongue. Then he tweaked and rolled Jack’s nipple into a stiff pebble and Jack’s cock leapt to attention. Cold deft fingers stroked along Jack’s length until he whimpered and gasped. Arousal pooled on Jack’s belly and Steve trailed his fingertips in the wetness, licking off his fingers one by one as Jack writhed beneath his body. Jack thrust helplessly upwards searching for sweet friction and release. 

Steve abruptly stopped all his touches and said cooly, “Well, if we’re not friends…” Then he flipped over onto his belly onto the bed, his head turned away from Jack. “Don’t wake me up or there will be consequences.” 

Steve’s arm was still draped over Jack’s chest, pinning his arms to his sides. Jack tried to touch his cock, but Steve said sternly, “You don’t get to come until I make you come. Since we’re not friends.” 

Jack stared up at the ceiling with the biggest, hardest erection that he’d ever sprouted without the aid of alien fornication drugs and silently cursed his lot in life. He waited until Steve’s breathing evened out and risked a quick stroke. Iron fingers clamped down upon his arm, Steve growled. “That’s your _only_ warning.” 

Why was it such sheer torment to be denied the monster’s touch? Jack blinked and thought about baseball. It was a long while before sleep took Jack and his dreams were fitful, full of blue eyes and knives both equally sharp. 


	40. Chapter 40

Jack blearily blinked his eyes. He was not a small guy, he was the same height as Steve really, and sharing a bed meant lots of tangled limbs. Rogers snuggled up on Jack’s chest and made an odd huff of pleasure. Jack tried to push him off, but it was no use. Rogers had a better grip than that armored octopus. 

Guilt stabbed Jack in the gut for a moment as he thought about the Magistrate, but Jack brushed it aside. It never would have worked. 

What was his double like on this world? Obviously female, that was a given. He was quite curious. There were a lot of things he wanted to know about this world if he could just get Steve Rogers' two hundred plus pound body off of his chest. “Hey. I gotta piss.” Jack squirmed and tapped Steve on the shoulder. “Move.” 

Rogers grunted, grabbed the edge of the blanket and flipped over, wrapping himself up in a blanket burrito. 

Jack made his way to the bathroom, used the toilet and peered in the mirror above the sink while washing his hands. How much time was passing while they jumped? It seemed like his injuries were healing far too quickly for the time he could account for. There were barely any scabs on the red scarred stars on his back and no hint of the octopus hickies. He did have a huge fresh one on his neck though, right where it would peek above a SHIELD issue shirt. Goddamnit Rogers. 

He turned on the shower and stepped in, took a few pumps of all purpose body soap from the dispenser mounted in the stall and tried to wash off the humiliation of the previous evening. It didn’t work and his traitorous flesh stiffened in his soapy hand. Jack shrugged. Better to get it out of the way now and not be thinking about it whole damned day. 

Who could he complain to other than Brock? Brock would just get pissed off because in his mind Jack plus sex equaled jumping and he wouldn’t want to get left behind. That bed was too small for three people. Jack snorted as he thought about it. He stuck his face under the spray and when he stepped out, he backed up into a wall of muscles. 

Rogers was behind him, naked. “Having memory issues, Jack? I thought I told you. You don’t get to come until I make you come.” 

“Oh fucking hell. Really?” Jack’s lips tightened. “Maybe you’re not up for the job.” What was he doing? Taunting this man who could quite literally break him in half on a whim? A quiet voice deep down inside Jack whispered that he knew exactly what he was doing. “It’s okay. You’re an old man. Happens to the best of us.”

Steve’s eyes sparkled at the challenge and Jack felt like he was twitching a string in front of a tiger. “Old man, am I?” 

Jack looked up at Steve through his eyelashes and smirked, “Only one of us gets the Senior Citizen discount.” Steve cupped Jack’s jaw in his huge hand and curled his thumb about Jack’s throat. Jack swallowed hard and his vision went a little hazy as the thumb stroked his pulse. 

“So clean.” Steve murmured. “It’s a pity I have to make you filthy again.” 

“That’s a crying shame. If it’s not all talk…” Steve shut off the water and half-dragged Jack by the back of his neck back to their bed. The sheets stuck to Jack’s wet skin and Steve loomed above him, terrible with lustful intent.

“Ah but I like talking.” Steve crooned. “In fact, I want to hear exactly what you want this _old man_ to do to you. Because you do want me Jack. You want me so badly.” 

Jack screwed his eyes shut and felt his whole body flush red. No one else was here, no one would ever know… Except for the people recording them and analyzing their recordings, of course. That made it _hotter_ knowing that they were being watched. Well, he could put on a show… “I do want you, you bastard.” Jack gritted his teeth. 

A cold hand swept up his inner thigh and stopped tantalizing short of his groin. Jack whined in desperation, not recognizing his own voice. “Oh _fuck_.”

“I need more descriptive instructions, Jack.” Jack heard Steve rustling about in his tactical suit. 

“Don’t you dare drug me.” Jack ordered, his eyes still shut.

“Why would I? You’re panting and swollen for me now. All you have to do is tell me what you want Jack. Use your words, Peaches.” Hot breath ghosted against his skin and Jack shivered. 

“Suck me.” Jack’s fingers curled in the damp bedding. “Put that damn mouth to good use for once!” He felt himself engulfed in Steve’s curiously cool mouth and then his brain stopped working. He was awash in sensation, lost in the ebb and flow of Rogers’ clever tongue. He felt himself tighten and just before he spilled over the brink, Steve pulled back and gripped Jack’s cock tightly at the base. 

“Isn’t there something else you want from me?” Steve said in Jack’s ear as he nibbled and nipped at the lobe. “Haven’t you been empty? Feeling hollow inside?” 

“Don’t— have— lube.” Jack slurred out, “’S too big.” The tattoo began to glow. 

“On your belly, son.” Steve rolled a pliant and limp-jointed Jack over and stroked his scarred muscles with knowing hands. His touch lingered over the stars and then trailed back down to Jack’s waist, the cleft of his buttocks. 

Jack nearly startled off the bed at the touch of Steve’s tongue, but Rogers held him in place with one powerful hand. Jack drooled into the pillow as Rogers licked him open, patient and methodical only stopping when Jack moaned raggedly, “ _Please_. Fuck me.”

“As you wish.” He wiped off his spittle-wet face with the back of his hand and Jack heard the click of a lube bottle cap. “Do you want me to make you feel good, Jack?” 

Jack nodded and Steve slapped him lightly on the ass, as a reminder. “Yes! Please, please make me feel good.” He was rewarded for his compliance with cool slick fingers dipping and delving into his most intimate spaces. Jack’s toes curled as Steve’s fingers curled until the pleasure was almost too much and Jack grabbed Steve’s wrist. “Need— you—“ 

Steve withdrew his fingers slowly with a wet squelch and leaned over to capture Jack’s mouth with his own. Jack felt the thick, blunt head of Steve’s cock press against his hole and he moaned into Steve’s mouth. “Tell me you love me.” Steve said. Jack shook his head and Steve pushed up, breaching Jack with a slow, easy stretch. Jack’s whole body trembled as Steve claimed him, pierced him. “Tell me you love me.” 

“No…” Steve’s thrusts expertly stabbed at Jack’s swollen sensitive spots and Jack’s vision sparkled. He was literally seeing stars and his tattoo’s light was brilliantly intense. The bedding was wet with Jack’s drool as he climbed higher and higher with pleasure, Steve laced his fingers with Jack’s, pinned Jack against the bed. He stopped thrusting just before Jack reached the peak. 

“Tell me you love me and I’ll let you come.” Steve said, red faced and breathless. He slowly churned his hips into Jack. “You know you want to.” 

Jack’s mouth opened and shut with need and he said to his eternal shame, “I— lo—“. 

The door slid open and Brock entered the room with his arms full of bags of breakfast food and a fully-loaded coffee carrier in one hand. He couldn’t see over the brown paper bags and he groused, “Well finally! It’s taken fucking forever to get my biometrics into the system! I used to be a level three! A three! I could get in practically every door in this place and now my nose is sore from walking _into_ doors. And Ronnie just laughs her ass off every time I do it.”

Steve lost his concentration at the interruption and Jack took advantage of the distractions and pushed backwards, spearing himself to the orgasm that had been dangled in front of him. The light flared and dwindled and Jack started to giggle, high-pitched and reedy. 

He’d won.

“GET OUT.” Rogers bellowed at Brock, who promptly dropped the bags on the floor and set the coffee carrier on the table. He took one of the paper coffee cups and backed out slowly, without a single word. He shook his head and took a drink while the doors shut. 

Rogers put an end to Jack’s giggles with one massive thrust. “You think you’re clever, do you? A clever, clever boy.” He grabbed a fistful of Jack’s hair and sank his teeth into the hickie on Jack’s neck. He covered Jack with his own body and writhed in the pleasure of possessing it. Jack squawked and groaned under Rogers’ weight and his noises only seemed to inflame Steve’s passion. “So sweet and clever. Mine. Mine. MINE.” Rogers pulled out and ejaculated, painting Jack’s flesh with spurts and gushes. He massaged the semen into Jack’s skin, into the red stars and then up into Jack’s hair. 

“Gross.” Jack protested and found his mouth stoppered with spunk-covered fingers. The salty-bitterness flooded his mouth and Jack gagged a bit. Steve smiled. 

“Well. Quit lazing about.” He smacked Jack on the ass. “Time for another shower. Somehow you got all _filthy_. You really should take better care of your personal hygiene, Jack.” Jack didn’t say anything. He flipped Steve off, who snorted at his weak bravado. Steve stretched and walked to the bathroom,Jack heard him say before he shut the door, “I must remind the Commander about the importance of knocking…” 


	41. Chapter 41

Jack sat on a bench watching the STRIKE team of this world spar. He savored every crumb of the cheese danish and each sip of black coffee, aware of how these small every day things were luxuries for him now. He tried to put names to curious female faces that stared back at him in wonder. Mercer was a good looking man with sharp eyes and frizzy-haired Murphy had gobs of cat hair on her uniform at all times. 

A tall, statuesque brunette woman with slicked back braids approached him. They looked at each other for a moment and then held out their hands at the same time. “Jack Rollins.” He introduced himself to his twin. Her eyes were bright and green, she was older than he was and her smile was eerily familiar. There was none of the magnetic pull he’d felt with the Magistrate. 

“Janice Rollins.” She shook his hand firmly, then squinted at his face. “You could be my twin brother. It’s a little creepy.” A scar creased her chin, just the same as his. “Damn. Ronnie wasn’t lying.” She sat down beside him on the bench. “Favorite sport?” 

“Ice hockey.” She nodded thoughtfully and he decided to play the game too. “Favorite ice cream flavor?” 

“Rocky fucking Road.” They nodded in agreement. Janice asked bluntly, “Gay?” 

Jack nearly snorted his coffee up his nose. “Gay.” 

Janice smiled and offered him a fist bump. “Looks like we’ve got all the important things in common. I’m in Demolitions.”

“Ah. Sniper.” Janice looked disappointed. “What?” 

“I was just looking forward to having another fuse-head to talk shop with, that’s all.” They watched the dual Rumlows step onto the mat. It was more foreplay than exercise. Both of them were showing off and taking their time getting out of holds on the mat. Posing and gyrating, it was ridiculous. “Nothing like watching two grown adults dry-hump in the gym, huh?” Janice sighed and gestured at Brock. “Isn’t he your boyfriend?” 

“Nope.” Jack shook his head, “He’s a free agent.”

“Huh. With that hair, I thought he was queer too.” Janice gestured in a pantomime of Brock’s haircut. Brock and Ronnie were covered in sweat and circling each other like stalking lions. 

“Bi. But right now he’s very Ronnie-sexual. Like from the moment we dropped from the sky.” He sipped his coffee as if that wasn’t a fucking weird thing to say. “I mean, I get it. I do. But Brock doesn’t do _subtle._ ” He was probably so fucking delighted to have his brain scrubbed clean of all the shit that had been done to it that each day was an adventure. And Jack thought, a bit uncharitably, the best person for a narcissist to fuck would be a clone of themselves. 

“He’s just Ronnie’s type. Breathing on his own and bipedal.” She smirked and rolled her eyes, “Of course, that goes for most of the human race too, but I’m sure he’s a _delightful_ person just like she is. He’s pretty. Good fighter.” Ronnie took Brock down with a sweeping ankle hook and he landed with an indigent squawk on the mat. “She’s gonna eat him _alive_.”

“That’s probably what he’s hoping for.” Jack and Janice shared a knowing glance and Janice clucked her tongue. 

“That explains the bondage harness he’s wearing. So you’re with the big guy? The one with the shoulders and the teeny tiny waist?” Janice leaned back on the bench. “He destroyed that van for you. Kinda impressive.” 

With Steve Rogers? With the murderous psychopath? “Yeah. I guess so. It’s complicated. A bit hard.” Jack finished the bitter dregs of his coffee and grimaced. 

“Wouldn’t doubt that he’s _hard_ on you from the looks of that hickie.” Janice poked a finger at the bruise on Jack’s neck and he tried to pull up his shirt collar. Jack wondered if this is what it felt like to have a sister. “ _Damn_. Likes to make a statement doesn’t he? Are you okay with that?” Her concern felt alien in his ears.

“He’s less subtle than Brock is.” They watched Brock pin Ronnie against the mat and whisper something filthy in her ear that inspired her to say something awful right back. “And that’s saying something.” 

“Huh.” Janice was quiet for a moment and then she said, “Brock said that you fucked yourself. Like an older version of you. What was that like?” 

Jack threw the coffee cup into the trash. “Brock talks too much. And it was… weird. And complicated.” 

Janice grinned. “Bet it was hot too.” 

Jack found himself grinning back. “Yeah. It was.” 

She sighed. “Ronnie’s a lucky bitch. Sorry, I’m just not feeling it with you, Jack.” 

Jack shrugged, “It’s nice not to be the center of attention for once.” He sat in companionable silence for a while, then he noticed Steve striding into the gym. He dominated the space in his black tactical suit, people got out of his way instinctively. Jack made the connection as Rogers focused on the pair of Rumlows, who were still sparring on the mats. “Rumlow!” Jack called out in warning. 

“What?” Veronica yelled at the same time that Brock did. It was too late. Steve was already upon them and he reached down, grabbed Brock’s cross body harness and hauled him up with a lurch. 

“Commander.” Steve said smoothly, “I felt that it was time for a gentle reminder, because we’re such good friends.” He shook Brock, just once, hard enough to make his head snap back. “When entering my quarters,” Another shake, Brock went limp. Jack was already halfway across the mat. “Knock first!” 

Before Steve could permanently damage Brock with another shake, Jack threw himself against Steve’s arm and yelled, “Stop! Stop! God help me, if I mean anything to you, you’ll stop right now.” Steve raised an eyebrow but didn’t drop Rumlow. The rest of the gym was transfixed, watching their performance. 

“You know what I want to hear. What was so rudely stolen from me by his lack of manners!” Rumlow’s feet limply swayed against Steve’s knees. “I’ll never get that moment back!” Steve’s voice quavered with barely suppressed emotion.

“I’ll never say it to you if you hurt him.” Jack said with quiet determination, “You know how stubborn I can be. He’s our friend. Remember? He saved you once.” 

Steve closed his eyes and opened his hand, Brock dropped to the mat like a stone. He turned on his heel and started to stalk away. Veronica and Janice were triaging Brock, taking his vitals and Janice called for a medic. Jack looked back at Brock, then at Steve’s retreating back and made a decision. He ran after Steve and didn’t see the look of pity on Janice’s face as he did so. 

“Stop!” Jack called as Steve stomped down the empty hallway, “Stop!” 

Steve heaved a great sigh, his massive shoulders rose and fell. “What?” He didn’t turn around. 

“You can’t do that! You can’t just attack someone, you can’t just attack Brock of all people! Why the hell did you do that?” Jack was yelling, almost incoherently in frustration and anger. 

Steve cracked his neck, looked over his shoulder and said, “Because I need to let everyone here know that I _can_.” He snorted, “And it was very rude of the Commander to interrupt. I swear, no one in this century has any manners or decorum.” Jack’s mouth fell open. “Oh really? It was just a little jostle. Frankly, he should thank me. Those women are going to flock to him. To nurture and heal the wounded sweaty little terrier.” 

Jack’s eyebrows knitted sadly and he bit his lip. What had he expected? That a little passion might tame the beast? That after all their adventures and trials, Steve might have a little compassion, a little _humanity_? It was stupid. Jack felt stupid and embarrassed for hoping that he could have changed anything about Captain HYDRA. 

Steve put his hand on Jack’s shoulder and asked, “What’s that look for?” 

Jack put his hand on Steve’s for a moment, then pushed it off.“I— I guess I thought we might have had something— _together_. Other than sex and jumping.” Jack turned and walked away. When he was halfway down the hall he said knowing that Steve could still hear him, “You _disappointed_ me today.” 

He expected to hear bellowing, something break or a fist against a wall. He heard nothing and when he looked back, Steve wasn’t there. 


	42. Chapter 42

Jack peered in the doorway of Brock’s hospital room. Janice waggled her fingers at him in a friendly wave and then pressed one against her lips as she pointed at the two Rumlows. They were asleep. Brock was on a bed with wires taped to his chest and a small smile on his lips. Ronnie was drooling, her head on the bed right next to Brock. Janice rolled her eyes and winked at Jack who nodded and left. 

He wandered down the halls of the Triskelion, wary eyes upon his back. He wasn’t looking for Steve. He _wasn’t_. He’d be better off without the jackass. He walked the endless hallways for hours, his hands jammed into his pockets, searching for a glimpse of the man who had carved stars into his flesh. 

This made no sense, none! He hated Steve. Steve hated him. _Flayed skin on a red leather couch…_ His hands balled up into fists and he let out his breath slowly. It had to be a timeline fuck up. When they’d gone back into the past, they’d changed something. Not just in Steve, Jack admitted to himself. He thought about the scarred bony boy in threadbare clothing and a cheap drugstore t-shirt. He remembered the beautiful drawings on the tenement walls and how eagerly Steve had taken their kindnesses. They’d been so cruel that day. Was it just guilt that made Jack’s stomach flutter? Guilt never gave anyone a boner.

Jack shook his head and continued on his fruitless search until Agent Hill stopped him. “Mr. Rollins, Director Fury would like you to know that Steve Rogers paid for a children’s art kit and a book with counterfeit currency at the gift shop. Then he terrorized the poor salesgirl by smiling at her and telling her that she looked like his mother.”

Jack blinked. “He _paid_ for the stuff?” Usually he just walked in and took whatever he wanted… “Where is he?” 

Agent Hill pointed his finger upwards. “He’s on the roof. The Director would like you to go deal with this. You won’t need an access code for the helipad. Mr. Rogers ripped the door off the hinges.” That sounded more like normal Steve behavior. Jack nodded and made his way to the elevator. “Be careful, Mr. Rollins. He’s unpredictable. Unstable.” 

“You have no idea.” Jack muttered. 

The wind whipped around Jack, he shielded his eyes and peered about. There was Steve, sitting on the very edge of the Triskelion with his feet dangling over the edge. He held a thin paperback in his hand, the pages dog-eared. He stared out over the Potomac, his wide black-clad shoulders slumped. 

Jack approached cautiously and hollered “Rogers!” so that Steve could hear him approach even over the howl of the wind.They were up so high, he felt queasy and had to look away from the horizon. “Rogers!”

“Go away! Leave me alone!” Steve yelled into the wind, his face turned away from Jack. 

Jack gritted his teeth and grabbed Steve on the shoulder, he squeezed his fingers. “No!” Steve turned his head and looked up over his shoulder at Jack. His face was tear-stained, windburned and twisted up in utter anguish. Jack dropped to his knees so he could hear over the wind that whipped around them. 

Steve clutched the paperback in his hand. “This!” He shook the book. It was an autobiography of Stella Rogers. “This is what was stolen from me! I could— I could have been so much _more_ Jack!” He hurled the book out over the Potomac and they watched the pages flutter as it fell out of sight. Steve buried his face in his hands. “They made me into a monster!” He balled his hands into fists on his thighs and stared off at the horizon. “No. I’m a liar. They didn’t. _I_ made myself into a monster that even they were afraid of. You’re afraid of me. I know you are. And I don’t want you to be afraid of me.” Rogers bit his lip and drew blood that beaded and smeared on his pink lips. 

“But I don’t know anything different. When I see you, I want to make you _mine._ I want you to belong to me. Maybe that’s why I didn’t kill you back in the cabin… I remembered you? And that other Brock loved you so goddamned much. He was willing to die rather than see you die. I was so jealous.” 

His voice cracked and he sobbed,“Why do I feel like this? _Why_? Everything was so much simpler before I knew either of you. I knew who I was. And you can say four fucking little words and I feel like my guts have been ripped out… How can I disappoint you, Jack? I’m the same as I always was. _Broken_. Fucking damaged goods. It’s your fault. You made me care for you. I don’t know how to _care_ for someone, Jack."

"And I raped you. I cut you. I beat you. I hurt you. And I’ll do it again. I will. I know a thousand ways to make a man cry.” He gripped the edge of the parapet and looked down at the river. “I’m _walking death_. And I do not deserve mercy. I do not deserve love.” He leaned forward and Jack threw his arms around Steve, holding him back. 

“Stop! Stop!” Jack shouted in his ear. “I do care about you! I do love you! Don’t do this!” He used every bit of his strength to pull Steve away from the edge, when suddenly Steve flipped him onto his back. 

The super soldier straddled Jack. Jack blinked in confusion as Steve kissed him, long and slow, his arm curled behind Jack’s neck. Jack melted against Steve and surrendered to his body’s base desires. Steve kissed him for what felt like hours, taking pleasure from the taste of his skin and the groans deep within his throat. Steve ran his fingernails against the grain of Jack’s beard and carded his fingers in Jack’s hair. Jack gasped against Steve’s mouth, his heart pounding with adrenaline and desire. 

Steve broke the kiss and stared at him with half-lidded eyes and a smirk of satisfaction. “So you do love me, after all. I just wanted to hear it from your lips.” Jack’s vision whited out in rage, he balled up his fist and punched Steve in the face. Twice. Three times. Steve laughed, his white teeth stained red with blood. He pinned Jack’s arms down. “Oh Peaches.” He huffed hot breath into Jack’s ear and suckled the lobe. 

“I love you too.”


	43. Chapter 43

 

“Don’t you _dare_ move.” Steve said ominously. “The light is perfect.” 

Jack rolled his eyes and held the pose even though his foot was cramping. Rogers had been on a drawing bender over the last week. The floor was dotted with crumpled paper. Pads of paper and drawing supplies kept showing up at their door, better quality than the kids' art supplies he had started out with. 

That was obviously Director Fury’s doing. It did seem to keep the monster out of trouble and out of Jack’s pants for the most part. Charcoal got everywhere and Jack had at least two sets of black smudged fingerprints on his hips. It was almost _domestic_. 

When they weren't pretending to be artistic, Jack did sit ups and push ups out of boredom as Steve smirked at him with his scientifically perfect body, read a few magazines that were bizarrely similar and alien at the same time and napped. Then they’d make their way to the cafeteria, eat while women stared and whispered about them and return to their room. Rinse. Repeat. 

Brock had practically vanished after he was given the all clear from medical. 

“If you don’t want to model for me, I can think of something else to do.” Rogers leered from his seat on the bed, his tactical suit half undone and pooled at his hips. He’d been watching Steve at the same time he posed. He was beautiful even with the scars from the electrodes, the light kissed his features and softened them. Jack was bewildered by his feelings constantly, and confused most of the time around Steve. He was unpredictable, volatile but strangely sentimental at times. 

“I bet.” Jack stretched his arms, rubbed the arch of his foot. “Cramp.” 

“Poor Peaches.” Steve put his drawing pad aside and took Jack’s foot in his hands, he kneaded carefully with fingers that could pulverize bones. Jack luxuriated in the massage until Steve popped his toe into his cool mouth and began to suckle it. Reflexively, Jack kicked out with a squawk and caught a startled Steve square in the nose. Steve ran his fingertip under his nostrils and looked at the smear of blood, then he licked it clean. 

“Sorry— I’m ticklish.” Jack stammered and immediately regretted that confession and apology as Steve’s eyes lit up with devilish glee. Jack scuttled back against the the wall as Steve slowly stalked him across the bed, his scarred muscles rippled. His eyes were wide with anticipation tinged with fear and he yelped as Rogers pounced upon him. 

“I’m going to enjoy hearing you scream, Jack.” Rogers splayed his hands and dramatically lunged, catching Jack on the ribs. Jack dissolved in giggles and hysterical laughter as Steve tickled the hell out of him. 

“Stop! Stop!” He gasped, barely able to catch his breath. 

“Make me.” Rogers pinned his legs down and tickled his feet as Jack thrashed like a landed fish. Jack was red in the face and tears leaked from his eyes. He limply slapped Steve across the face and Steve laughed in response. He stopped and wiped the tears from Jack’s cheeks. “I should try that when you’re spitted upon my cock. You thrash so prettily, Peaches.” 

“You— you— sonovabitch.” Jack tried to catch his breath. “You— No. No more. Please!” 

Steve pulled Jack close to him. “You’re full of surprises, Jack. I’m so glad I didn’t kill you.” Steve nuzzled into Jack’s beard and huffed out a pleased sigh. 

Jack grimaced. “That’s your idea of romantic, isn’t it?” Steve shrugged and claimed his lips with a kiss that made Jack’s stomach lurch. For a while there was no more talking because their bodies had learned a language all their own. 

 

“I wonder where Brock is,” Jack wondered aloud as he idly traced the curve of Steve’s impossibly narrow waist, “Haven’t seen him in days.” 

Steve snorted. “He’s like a stray cat. He’ll be back when there’s food or he’s fucked something up.” He slapped Jack’s ass. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” 

“Don’t wanna move.” Jack grumped and Steve scooped him out of bed. “You’re not going to do that again, are you?” Jack let his head fall back. It was curiously exciting to be picked up as if he weighed nothing at all. “I got water in my ears.”

“I promise that I will not fuck you again in the shower.” Steve said solemnly. “I’ll wait until I get you clean and then bend you over the chair.” He set Jack down in the bathroom and stroked the curve of Jack’s cheekbone with his thumb. “Got some charcoal there.” Jack held Rogers’ hand against his face. 

“What are we doing?” Jack asked softly, “What are we doing?” 

Steve shook his head, “I don’t know. I don’t want to stop. Tell me what I want to hear.” 

Jack gritted his teeth. “I’ll never forgive you for that stunt on the rooftop.” 

“Would you rather I had jumped?” Steve bit his pink lip as Jack averted his eyes and shook his head.

“That was _awful_. And all that utter bullshit you said up there to trick me—“ 

“That wasn’t bullshit, Jack. Not all of it. I promise you that.” Steve turned on the water. “And I keep my promises.” 

“You promised that you wouldn’t hurt me. And that _hurt me_.” Jack stepped in the shower and Steve joined him in silence. Jack let him wash his hair, scrub his body clean because it seemed to be what Steve wanted. Not like he could stop him either, so Jack let his mind go blank and calm in the warmth of the shower spray. It was easy to let Steve dry him off and then bundle him in blankets as if Jack were made of glass. Steve curled around him on the bed, his face wet on Jack’s neck. Must have been wet from the shower. 

It was a strange way to live, Jack thought drowsily as he drifted off to sleep in Steve’s arms, but he was happy. Something was probably going to go horribly wrong because the universe hated Jack Rollins’ happiness. 

 

Someone hammered on the the door. Steve pulled up his pants and zipped his suit jacket, then opened the door. Janice Rollins leaned against the doorframe and Steve gave her a slow appraisal from head to toe. “Is Jack here?” Janice asked and Steve stepped aside with a welcoming gesture. 

“And who might you be?” Steve inquired as she entered. 

“Janice. Janice Rollins.” Jack pulled his shirt over his head, grateful to be decently dressed. “And you’re the guy version of Stella. Yeah, I can see that.” Then she ignored Steve and turned her attention to Jack. “We’re going to the shooting range. Get your shoes on. I am so goddamned bored.”

“He’s not going anywhere.” Steve said mildly, “We’re on vacation.” 

Janice made a rude sound with her lips, “Whatever. Shake a leg Jack, I need to shoot something. You can bring your dude if you want to.” 

Steve blinked indignantly at her dismissive tone. “His _dude_? Excuse me?” 

“Boyfriend? Fuck buddy? _Lover_?” Janice shrugged, “I don’t know what your deal is and I frankly don’t care. Your buddy Brock has totally ruined my routine.” 

“What did he do this time?” Jack said wearily, lacing up his shoes. 

“ _Who_. Who did he do. Has done. Is still doing. Over and over and over! I’m roomies with Ronnie and they’ve been fucking like jackrabbits all goddamned week! She used leave so she could spend _quality time_ with him.” Janice rolled her eyes to the heavens and heaved a sigh. “Look, I love Ronnie. But this is fucking ridiculous!” 

“I’m not sure what I can do about that. Maybe they’ll get bored soon? Or chafed?”

“One can hope! So you and me, we’re going to go shoot some targets while you listen to me bitch, moan and bellyache. Move out!” Janice ordered and she turned back to the door which was blocked by Steve Rogers who planted his feet and crossed his arms. 

“He’s not going anywhere.We are on vacation.” He enunciated each syllable as if she were a stupid child. Janice set her jaw and stepped up close to Steve, looking him right in the eyes. 

“I bet on your world you were some big shit, weren’t you?” Jack resisted the urge to intervene. “But here? This is my world. And you ain’t shit here.” 

“So eloquent.” Steve sneered. “Little girl.” 

Janice scoffed. “Was that supposed to be an insult? Come on Jack, we should go before I lose my temper.” The tension in the room made the hairs on the back of Jack’s neck stand up. Janice leaned in close and patted Steve on his black-clad chest. “That’s a good boy.”

“I’m just curious as to what you think you could do to me. You’ve worked with my counterpart, I’m stronger than she is. What makes you so confident that you could possibly do anything to intimidate me?” 

Janice grinned with all her teeth and Jack followed her sight line. “Oh fuck.” Jack said and Steve looked down at a small black square with a red light blinking upon it. 

“Tick tick boom!” Janice waggled her eyebrows, she had a detonator in her palm. “He’s a sniper. I’m Demolitions. You were saying?” 

“You’d be caught in the blast too.” Steve muttered. 

“I’ve lived a good life. And I really like to make my point.” 

Steve started laughing. “I like her Jack. I really like her. She’s _insane_.” He stepped aside and held the door open for them. 

As they passed through the threshold, Steve stopped Janice and placed the charge in her hand, then folded her fingers around it. “Bring him back around seven or I will find you and you won’t have time to take a breath, let alone set a charge.” He placed a fond kiss on Jack’s forehead, then he shut the door. 

Jack finally let out the breath he’d been holding the whole time. “What the fuck was that? You set a bomb on him? What were you thinking?” 

Janice clicked off the red LED light and put it in her pocket. “It wasn’t armed. Doesn’t even have a charge in it.” 

Jack’s mouth fell open. “He could have ripped out your throat with his bare hands Janice! Don’t ever do that again, really, don’t. He’s— I like you Janice. He’s _dangerous._ ” No one here had any idea how dangerous Steve could be. Jack thought back to the Purge Night world and felt a little queasy.

_He’s changed_ , Jack told himself. 

“Heard you two made out on the roof. Dramatically.” Jack cringed and Janice patted his shoulder, “And you’re not as quiet as you think you are, Mister. The walls are thin and there’s cameras everywhere.”

“I’m not joking. Please, please don’t do that again.” 

“Fiiiiine.” She scoffed, “Little girl. I haven’t been little since elementary school. Your dude is a real prick Jack. It’s like he’s the total opposite of Stella. It can’t just be because of his dick, right? There’s something _wrong_ with him. In his head. You’re a great dude, I mean, you’re _me_ so you’re practically family. I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

Jack nodded but didn’t respond. Her concern was too little and far too late. Janice sighed and they walked to the shooting range to take out their mutual frustrated aggression on helpless paper targets. 


	44. Chapter 44

 

Steve pummeled a punching bag to smithereens. It was like watching a battering ram. All power and no finesse. Jack made noises of disapproval under his breath. After a while he couldn’t stand it anymore. No one else was going to say anything to the ominous hulking man. 

“Hey, punch like this.” Jack demonstrated while Steven indulged him. “Otherwise, you’re going to break your fingers.” It was unbelievable that no one had taught him how to do it the right way.

Steve hit the bag so hard it flew across the gym into a startled group of onlookers. He held up his hand and said, “They break every time.” Then he walked off to the water fountain as Jack’s mouth hung open in shock. 

“Going to catch flies in that.” Brock said from behind him, he sidled up with his hair artfully mussed. It was impossible for the man to look anything other than hot, in any world, but the lust Jack had once felt had dwindled to a distant memory of passion. Someone else had seared into his soul.

Jack frowned. “Where the _fuck_ have you been?” 

Brock stretched out his quads and smiled disarmingly. “Guess. You look like you’re still in one piece. Survived all that time without me?” He looked pointedly at the destroyed heavy bag and the crowd of gawkers around it. 

“He won’t let me out of his sight. I can barely piss by myself.” 

“I know how that feels.” Rumlow sighed. "Constant companionship. Of the carnal kind."

“I’m surprised you came up for air!” 

“Janice gets a little pissed off about her bed.” 

Jack made a face. “You didn’t fuck in her bed, did you? She’d beat the shit out of you. She made Steve back down, I shit you not. It was amazing. And so fucking stupid.” 

Brock shrugged with one shoulder. “Technically, we fucked _on_ it. But I changed the bedding, a little jizz really shouldn’t have been that big a deal.” 

“Janice threw you out, didn’t she?” 

Brock laughed, “Picked me up like a sack of potatoes and tossed my ass out into the hallway. My clothes were an afterthought. I think some of the girls on the STRIKE team took photos of me on their phones while I pounded on the door. I know I heard camera shutters.” 

“Serves you right. So did you get enough of yourself?” 

“Like you’re one to talk.” Brock sat down on the mat and leaned back. He took a long moment to survey the gymnasium.“You know, this isn’t such a bad world. There’s a lot to like here.” The humor was gone from his voice, instead there was a wistfulness. A longing.

“Thinking about staying?” Jack sat down beside him. They watched Rogers climb a rope like a spider. He didn’t even use his legs. 

“I really, really like this girl. I— I thought I knew what love was? But we’ve got such a connection and it’s honest and pure. And holy shit Jack, I think I really love Ronnie.” Rogers dropped from a height that would have shattered a normal man’s knees and landed on the mat with cat-like grace. Spontaneous applause broke out and Steve smiled at Jack. 

_Show off_ , Jack thought, then he remembered that Brock was telling him something important. “I thought you loved Barnes.” 

Brock sucked on the inside of his cheek for a few moments. “That’s complicated. I still can’t figure out what were my feelings and what I was programmed to feel. That AutoDoc was a blessing and a curse. I don’t want my life to feel like a waste. I don’t want to _be_ a waste. I’m the Commander, dammit. And I’ve got a nasty feeling in the back of my head that it was all total bullshit. I’m rambling. Sorry. I’m not in any hurry to get back there to find out.” 

“Me neither.” Jack looked at his feet and thought about tickling. “It’s nice here.” 

Brock raised an eyebrow. “Huh. What’s so nice about being cooped up with Captain Crazypants?” Jack didn’t answer and Brock grabbed his arm. 

“Jack.” Brock looked into his eyes. “Jack. Did you disobey my direct order? You _did_. You poor sad bastard.” Brock shook his head sadly. 

“I thought he was going to jump off the roof!” Jack buried his face in his hands, his face red with shame. 

“Then you _let him_.” Brock said with quiet menace. “You’ve forgotten everything he’s done to you. Done to us! Damn it Jack. _Fuck_! He’s manipulated you and coerced you, lied to you and almost killed you!” After an awkward moment, Brock said, “I guess I have no room to talk, do I?” He laid back on the mat with his forearm on his eyes. “We’re a pair of fucking suckers, you and I. Dumb chumps for a pretty face.”

A group of armed security officers surrounded them. “You need to come with us to your quarters. Now.”

Jack and Brock stood up.  “What’s going on?” Brock asked.

Steve strode over and loomed behind them. He stared at the guards with one hand possessively on Jack’s shoulder. He cocked his head to the side and then said, “Someone has killed Director Fury. That’s a pity. I thought she was better than that. I’m always getting disappointed by authority figures.” He clucked his tongue.

“How do you know that?” One of the women said curiously. “It just happened and you’ve been here the whole morning.” 

Steve pointed at his head. “I have ears, girl.” Surprisingly, Steve patted Jack on the small of his back and smiled. “Let’s all go together to our room.” 

As they walked down the hallway under heavy guard, Steve said “Ireally want my knife back. Things are about to get chaotic.” 

“You’re usually happy about that. It’s like Christmas morning for you.” Brock quipped. 

“Normally, yes. But I can’t risk anything happening to Jack.” 

“Because he’s your escape route.” Brock scoffed. 

Steve paused, choosing his words as the doors to their quarters opened and shut behind them. “He’s precious to me.” The doors locked with a solid clunk.

“Sounds like true love.” 

“Says the man who reeks of whoring debauchery. Do you want to have a little contest, Commander?” Steve loomed over Rumlow and whispered in his ear, “Your little alternate self, the girl with the sly eyes? The one that you’ve been fucking all this time? Did she whimper and whine your name as she came? Did she beg for your touch as if she would die from not having it? Tell me, did she tell you that she loved you?” 

“No.” Brock’s jaw tightened.

Steve smirked in triumph and glanced over at Jack, who was blushing scarlet. He poked Brock in the sternum with his finger and nearly winded him. 

“Then I win.” 


	45. Chapter 45

 

“What time is it?” Brock asked for the twentieth time from his slouch in the chair. He’d read the Good Housekeeping magazine in his lap cover to cover at least twice and critiqued all the recipes aloud. Jack was on the bed, half naked and reclining. He was pretty damned good at holding still, that came with the sniper training, but even he sighed with irritation at that question. 

“About 23 minutes later than the last time you asked that inane question.” Rogers replied without looking up from his sketch pad. He reached over for his kneaded eraser and frowned. He looked on the floor, under the bed and then finally at Brock who blinked innocently. “Give it to me.” 

Rumlow rolled the grey putty in his fingers and then flicked it with his thumb. Rogers nabbed out of the air. “You better have not gotten any hair or lint in it.” 

“Or what?” Brock’s eyes narrowed in challange. 

Steve erased a highlight into his drawing. “I don’t make idle threats. Just remember that. I think an ink wash would really bring out the depth in this sketch,” He showed Jack the picture and Jack made a noise of agreement. “Helps to have a beautiful model.”

Brock scoffed under his breath, then shifted in his chair irritably. “Seems like you only have one muse. More pictures of Jack on these walls than I ever want to see again.” 

Jack flipped Brock off. His attitude was really grating on Jack’s nerves. It just made it harder to keep Steve’s violent impulses in check. It wasn’t the job Jack had signed up for, that’s for sure. 

“I had more than a thousand photographs of you, Commander. Drawings. Magazine clippings. Toys.” Steve said as he added a few smudges with his finger. “You haunted my half-formed memories and I tried to make sense of them by learning everything I could about you. But then I put away childish things.” Brock huffed at the insult but didn’t press further, he was bored not suicidal. 

“My leg is cramping.” Jack complained. Steve set down his drawing pad and with deft touches stroked up and down Jack’sthigh. It felt good. Too good. Jack was embarrassed by how quickly he stiffened beneath his boxers. 

“Is this for me, my sweet boy?” Steve brushed his fingers over the tent in Jack’s underwear, rolling the tumescence under his touch. “I’m flattered—“ 

“Oh god, really?” Brock groaned. “You’re just going to fuck in front of me now? We’re not even jumping.”

Steve stood up and lunged at Brock, quick as a striking cobra. He seized Brock by the back of his neck and dragged him over to the bed. Steve pushed Brock’s face into Jack’s crotch. “Put that flapping mouth to work Commander. Do something _constructive_.” 

“Dude!” Brock protested and tried to wriggle free, a red flush creeping up the back of his neck. Steve’s vise-like grip tightened on his nape. “Stop that! Fine. You win!” He glanced up at Jack, who put his arms behind his head and leaned back expectantly. “ _Really_? Really Jack?”

“You’ve been bugging the shit out of me too.” Jack smiled, enjoying Brock’s discomfort. He really had been a pain in the ass with his incessant nervous chattering. “You need something to do.” Maybe a little bit of Steve was rubbing off on him...

“Open up.” Steve ordered and pried open Brock’s jaw, “You’ve been with a woman so long that you’ve forgotten how it feels to be conquered by a man.” Jack wriggled his shorts down his hips. “If you do a good job, if you please my Jack, then I might take pity on you and fill up your filthy hole. I’ve never done that to you, have I? Not even at the Magistrate’s palace.”

Jack raised an eyebrow as Brock whimpered around his cock. “I thought—“ 

Steve shrugged. “I was about to, but then he called me by the wrong name and I used my blade instead.” He lifted Brock’s head up by his hair, a string of drool trailed out of Brock’s mouth. “Do you remember any of that?” 

“Not, not really.” Brock licked his lips and relaxed into the tight grip on his hair. “Drugged. A lot. Didn’t feel it until the infection set in.” 

Steve grunted. “I lost my temper.” Then he smiled, “So you should try harder to make me happy.” He pushed Brock’s head back down and Jack groaned in pleasure at the deft flutterings of the Commander’s tongue. But it was so much hotter because Steve was watching him, cataloging every moan, each quiver. “You like that, son?” Steve asked huskily. “Do you want me to fuck him as he sucks you?” Jack nodded and Brock lifted his hips so Rogers could pull down his pants. 

“What is _this_?” Rogers asked in wonder. He rubbed his palms across silky, taught nylon stretched over Brock’s ass. 

Jack’s dick fell out of Brock’s mouth with a wet sloppy pop. “They’re Ronnie’s. We were playing dress up when Janice threw me out.” _So that’s why the agents took pictures_ , Jack thought. “Haven’t had a chance to change yet.” 

"Or you didn't want to. Have you been waiting for us to discover this secret perversion? Your shameful little secret?" Steve stripped off Brock’s shoes and yanked his pants down and off. He stroked the nylons up and down in delight. He pushed Brock’s head back down. “Who told you to stop?” Jack watched Steve take out his knife, he tensed up in worry, but Steve only slit the crotch of the hose, splitting it apart like a ripe peach. 

Brock swallowed around Jack’s cock, his eyes hazy with lust. Jack rubbed his thumb on Brock’s chiseled cheekbone fondly as Steve slicked up his dick, far too impatient and turned on to bother with fingers. It didn’t seem to bother Brock, he canted up his hips as Steve sank into him. 

Jack watched Steve as he thrust, his long lashes fluttering upon his flushed cheeks, a black-clad god of lust and vengeance. He reached out a hand over Rumlow’s prone body and Steve took it. They interlaced their fingers and as their gaze locked, Jack orgasmed. Seconds later, _the door opened._

Veronica and Janice entered the room, fully armed and deadly serious, their faces bruised and cut up as if they’d recently taken a serious beating. Brock froze and stared in horror at the two women as cum dripped down his stubbled chin. Jack was too stunned by his orgasm to do anything other than lay there. He didn’t even try to cover up. 

“Ladies.” Steve said graciously, as if he weren’t balls deep in a mortified, squirming Brock. “I appreciate you sending Brock back to me with such saucy _accessories_. I do hope he wasn’t too much of a bother. Mouthy thing. Needed to be reminded about who he belongs to. Pets are so much trouble.” He slammed his hips against Brock with one last vicious thrust and came, his whole body shuddered and shook the bed. Rogers reached over and patted Brock on the flank, condescendingly. “Such a loyal dog. That’s a good boy.” 

“Jesus Christ.” Janice muttered with an appreciative smirk. “Don’t think you want those nylons back now, do you Ronnie?” 

Veronica’s eyes were very wide as she slowly shook her head. Then she barked, “Rogers. Move out!” Rogers sighed and wiped himself clean on the sheet. He tucked himself away and slapped Brock on the ass just to see the nylon-covered flesh jiggle.

“I’m not going anywhere unarmed. It’s not decent.” Steve purred. He cracked his neck from side to side and waited. Janice held up Steve’s vibranium blade. 

“Hello beautiful.” Janice made a disgusted face and Steve stood up. “I wasn’t talking to you, sweetheart.” He plucked the blade from her fingers and sheathed it, then he turned to Jack and Brock.  “Keep the bed warm for me boys, I’ve got a mission.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Come on girls. Time to kill Captain America.” 

Brock lunged at Steve from the bed and Ronnie jabbed her shockstick in his ribs. Brock convulsed then fell to the floor in a pile. 

“Sorry Brock. It isn’t personal.” Veronica said as Steve knelt down and pried open one of Brock’s eyelids with dispassionate interest. 

“I’ve been wanting to do that for the last twenty-two hours. He'll be fine.” Steve looked over at a stunned Jack and said, “Remember my promise, Jack.” Then they left to go commit murder and the doors locked behind them.

 

“My fucking head.” Brock moaned from under his wet washcloth. “That _bitch._ I almost pissed myself. You don’t have to have it set on _eleven._ ” 

“It only goes to—“ Jack stopped, “Oh. You were making a joke.”  He looked up at the ceiling and thought about Steve’s words. _Remember my promise._ “You know… he’s only ever promised me one thing. Other than flaying me alive."

“So romantic. I can see why you’ve fallen for him. Do tell.” Brock flipped his hand dismissively.

 “You said you were in love with the chick who just tasered you. No room to talk. _Again._ ” Jack leaned back against the wall and studied the drawings that tiled the wall in a haphazard mosaic. A quilt of the planes of his face, the curves of his body. “Brock. Remember that musical? _Winter’s Kiss_?” 

“Yeah. Tunes were good, plot kinda sucked. Why?” 

“The second line of the hit song. Don’t sing it, just think about it.” _This mask of mine is but a charade. Trust me and I shall shatter it._

Brock grunted in understanding. “Now I’ll have that song stuck in my head all day. So that’s what you think, huh?” 

Jack nodded. “Yeah. I do.” 

“So what do we do? Sit here with our thumbs up our asses?” Brock went to re-wet his cold compress. 

“If that’s what you do for fun, dude, I won’t judge. I’d think you’d have had enough up there for this afternoon though.” He started singing the third verse of the song to himself and pulled his knees up to his chest. 

_Don’t disappoint me Steve._


	46. Chapter 46

 

Jack hadn’t planned on being black-bagged and bound with zip-ties. It wasn’t on his calendar or his to-do list. The experience wasn’t new, he’d gone through training before, but it was _unpleasant._ He could hear the chattering of comms and muffled orders. Something had seriously gone to shit and he had a sinking feeling that Steve was a major part of the problem. _Please_ , he thought, _please don’t do it Steve_ as if his wishes made a whit of a difference.

Brock was next to him, he could feel him against the skin of his arm. He’d put up a hell of a struggle, nearly broken free. He’d certainly broken a few bones in the agents who had finally tasered him into compliance. 

“What do we do with these two?” Someone asked, “Indefinite hold?” 

“Oh not quite _that_ long.” Another voice answered and Jack knew from that tone that they should have jumped to a new world when they had had the chance. “Wait for orders. We’ll know when we can permanently take care of the problem.” That didn’t seem ominous, no. Not one bit.

All activity ceased when the announcement started. Stella Rogers’ voice was the only sound in the whole building. “Attention all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, this is Stella Rogers. You're heard a lot about me over the last few days. Some of you were even ordered to hunt me down. But I think it's time to tell the truth. S.H.I.E.L.D. is not what we thought it was. It's been taken over by HYDRA. Alexa Pierce is their leader. The S.T.R.I.K.E. and Insight crew are HYDRA as well.”

Jack felt Brock stiffen in shock at that revelation. _Shit._

“I don't know how many more, but I know they're in the building. They could be standing right next to you. They almost have what they want. Absolute control. They shot Nicole Fury. And it won't end there. If you launch those helicarriers today, HYDRA will be able to kill anyone that stands in their way. Unless we stop them. I know I'm asking a lot. But the price of freedom is high. It always has been. And it's a price I'm willing to pay. And if I'm the only one, then so be it. But I'm willing to bet I'm not.”

“Wait? What? Donna, what are you doing? Oh my god—“ There was a single shot and Jack heard a body hit the floor. 

“Anyone else have any objections? No? Good. We wait for orders. Don’t let anyone in—“ Her voice was cut off as an explosion rocked the cells. Jack and Brock kept their heads low as gunfire echoed in the hall. Screams cut off with gurgles and someone begged for her life. The screaming went on for far, far too long.

The bag ripped off his head and Jack squinted in the dim light until his vision focused. Rogers squatted in front of him, his face dripped with gore. Blue eyes framed in red ribbons. 

He held a severed hand, he’d used it to open the palm lock. Jack stared at the hand in horror, it had pink painted nails. Steve smiled in triumph and tossed it aside. 

“Miss me sweetheart?” His bloody fingers left a gooey red trail upon Jack’s cheek. He straddled Jack’s legs and kissed him as if he’d been worried or something ridiculous like that. He breathed against Jack’s lips, reeking of blood, “I told them. I told them I’d burn this world down if they hurt you. No one listens. It’s not my fault, Jack. You know that, right? All of this? They made me do it.” 

There was red spatter on the ceiling, arterial spray. “I saved you. That makes me a hero. Just like her.” There were so many bodies lying in red heaps on the floor, flung like rag dolls against walls and Jack struggled to nod in agreement. He’d wanted to be rescued, he’d know what might happen, but seeing the utter carnage made his stomach lurch with guilt. He wasn’t _worth_ all that death. 

Brock struggled and cursed beneath his bag until Steve sighed, “Way to ruin the moment, Commander.” He slit the zipties on both men and Rumlow ripped off the black bag. 

“Ronnie—!” He got one word of protest out before Steve shushed him. 

“Your girls are both HYDRA. True believers. They’d shoot you on sight. Maybe they’d feel a little guilty about it after, but I doubt that. Bloodthirsty lasses.” Rumlow gritted his teeth and dug his fingers into his thighs. “I would have been delighted to have them on my team in the old days.”

Steve said offhandedly, “It’s a pity that…” Then he shut his mouth as if he’d thought better of what he was going to say next. He helped Jack to his feet and held him close, smearing Jack with gore. 

“I’ve stolen back the AutoDoc cube and our gear bags. Come on, we need to get to a safe jump point.” He laughed, “Preferably somewhere with a shower. I’m always getting you dirty. Smearing myself on you. You do look good in red, Jack.” He slung both bags over his shoulder. 

“Aren’t we going to help?” Jack asked as he swallowed back his revulsion. This bloodthirsty monster was the true Steve Rogers, not the doting lover, not the man who made Jack thrill with his charcoal stained touch. He’d forgotten about the vicious beast that lurked beneath that perfect face. 

Steve shook his head. “Not my fight. I did my part in the back of the transport, setting them free. I knew the moment I smelled Agent Hill’s cologne that there was mischief afoot. I cut the hole in the transport for them to slip out and pretended like Stella knocked me out. We’re on a first name basis now. You’d think I’d make a better looking woman, but I suppose there’s only room for one perfect Steve in all the universes. You didn’t really think I’d kill her, did you?” 

“Yes.” Brock said flatly as he scanned the perimeter with a scavenged gun. Steve scoffed. They were getting close to an exit, the sounds of battle echoed in and outside the Triskelion. 

Jack said, “I hoped that you wouldn’t.” 

“Well, it did sound like fun. I’ll give you that.” Steve took point, stepped over a mangled body. “But I was only the backup plan. And they threatened your safety, so they had to burn.” He said that as casually as reading a grocery list. The building rocked with an explosion. 

“Huh. They might actually succeed. Did you know that HYDRA had built something called the INSIGHT program? It’s fascinating and it makes total sense. Eliminate the problems before they become problems!” Steve threw an attacking guard through a wall as they stole a car from the parking garage. “But it would take all the fun out of problem solving. I’ll tell you all about it after we jump. Come on, get in. We’ll find a vantage point and watch the fireworks!” Jack and Brock hopped in the car. Jack took shotgun and Brock was in the backseat, peering out the rear window. 

They pulled over when traffic was too clogged to go further. The helicarriers fired on each other. The Triskelion burned. The Potomac took back what had risen from its secret depths. “This really is exciting, isn’t it?” Steve said gleefully, like a child at a theme park.

Brock looked back at the Triseklion and helicarriers, his face stricken with grief. Jack reached back, squeezed his shoulder and Brock shrugged it off even as tears leaked from his eyes. “No. It’s _awful_.”

“Awfully exciting!” Steve grinned with faintly pink teeth and he seized Jack in his arms, kissed him again and again. His kisses tasted of copper and Steve ground his erection against Jack’s hip. “I must have you now. I can’t wait. It’s been such a lovely day.” 

Jack screwed his eyes shut and thought about home. Surely, Rogers would forget about him once they got home. Rogers fumbled with Jack’s belt, his lust made him uncharacteristically clumsy. 

Brock put his hand on Jack’s shoulder, unable to tear his eyes away from the disaster even as the light flared from Jack’s tattoo. He gasped at someone he saw fall from the last helicarrier as Rogers coaxed Jack towards orgasm with his bloody spit-slicked fist. 

And then, they were all  _falling_ just like the second figure that dove after the first… 

 

Steve crouched above Jack, scenting the air and listening like a predator. His nostrils flared and he started to tremble. 

“What is it?” Jack whispered, unnerved by the sight. Steve held up a finger in warning and Jack looked about for threats. He saw nothing in the darkness, not even a moon. Only very familiar constellations... he dared to hope.

“Verify communications.” He pointed at Brock. Brock took out his long useless earpiece from the gear bag and flicked it on. 

“Report!” Steve ordered and Brock’s eyes grew wide. 

“We’re _home._ ” Brock seized Jack in a bear hug. “We made it! Your magic dick finally worked!” Brock crowed.

“It always worked, it just didn’t take directions very well.” Jack quipped as his friend hugged him. They both froze as Steve joined in with his own vise-like embrace, surrounding them with his massive arms. Suddenly, Jack started to giggle at the absurdity of their situation, Brock and Steve joined in. They laughed like crazy men, whooped with joy until they were all hoarse from celebration.

“So, what do we do now?” Jack asked as he wiped the tears from his eyes. It was over. It was all over. “Where do we go from here?”

Spotlights flared and pinned them under their glare. A platoon of soldiers took aim at them. Steve stepped in front of Jack and Brock, shielded them with his body. His blade was ready and he crouched, ready to spring. 

“You’ll all go to interrogation, of course.” A voice from the past. “Hello Commander. We’ve missed you.” 

Brock squinted into the glare and then snapped a crisp salute. “Sir!” 

The voice belonged to Alexander Pierce, Director of SHIELD. And he did not look happy to see them. Jack grabbed Steve’s hand, rubbed his thumb Steve’s palm. “It will be okay Steve. _Please_.” He pleaded. _Please don’t get us killed._ “I don’t want you to die.” Steve gripped Jack's hand tightly and pinned Pierce with his gaze. 

“How touching. We’re not going to shoot you Steve. You’re a fantastic specimen. We have much to learn from you, Mr. Rogers.” Pierce smiled tightly. “We will, however, shoot your boyfriend—“ 

Pierce didn’t get to finish his sentence before Steve flung his priceless vibranium blade at Pierce’s throat. It sliced through the air with a whistle, straight and true. Unstoppable. 

Someone knocked it out of the air. Someone with a silvery metal arm. _The Summer Soldier._ He picked up the knife and smiled. 

“Hello _punk_. It’s been a long time.” 

 


	47. Chapter 47

Barnes ran his metal fingers through his clipped hair. He’d gotten a haircut since the last time Jack had seen him, fucking with Rumlow in the showers. Jack hated himself for having been  _concerned_ about the bastard’s welfare way back then. Concerned enough to sabotage his career. It seemed like a lifetime ago. 

He thought about all the scars on the small Steve’s torso. How he had basked in their one afternoon of kindness. Jack wanted to punch the smirk right off Barnes’ pink lips. 

Barnes’ steely gaze passed over Jack, disregarding him as a threat and focused on Steve. “I thought you were a ghost, Stevie. Looks like they finally got desperate enough to defrost you. You never were the pinnacle of the program, so you got mothballed instead of traded.” He scoffed, “I’m still not sure how you even survived the process.” 

“I thought you were dead.” Steve kept Jack behind him. “I sure hoped you were.” Steve smiled tightly as he spat the words out. 

“Now that’s not very nice. We’re such old friends.” Barnes spoke to Pierce, “He was the best little cock-sucker in Brooklyn, never could say no to a challenge. Little spitfire. I made so much money off of him. Once he got a knife, a strange thing on hinges and he tried to stab me. Slapped the silly right of you, didn’t I? Taught you how to take orders.”

“You do have an extraordinary talent for persuasion.” Pierce said. Barnes reached over with his flesh hand and stroked along Pierce’s jaw, a gesture of intimate possession.“But I don’t think they are in the mood for negotiation.” 

Barnes licked his lips. “Quite. _Commander_ ,” he paused dramatically and then said airily, “What does the phrase _Project Insight_ mean to you?” 

After a pause, Brock strode out confidently and stood behind Barnes. His face was blank, carved out of stone. It didn’t make any sense. The AutoDoc had fixed him! Jack’s mouth fell open and he cried out, “Brock!” 

“It speaks.” Barnes sighed, “I thought I’d had you taken care of many months ago— what was your name again? Mr. Rollins. That’s it.” He watched for any sign of shock and his brow knitted at Jack’s lack of reaction over the revelation. “Oh come now.” 

“Figured it out a while ago, asswipe.” Jack shouted over Steve’s shoulder. Steve wouldn’t let him move from his cover. “How’d you find us?” He was stalling now, giving Steve time to plan an escape. They’d lost Brock. There was no hope of getting him back now that the brainwashing had taken over. _Fuck._

“Asgardian magic causes distinctive ripples in the magne—“ Barnes shook his head, “You couldn’t possibly understand it. You’re just a grunt. I know it’s beyond the punk’s comprehension. We’ll figure out what makes this _magic_ work. We have talented scientists and vivisectionists at SHIELD. We’ll just take you apart. One piece at a time.” He laughed, “Won’t that be a cracking good time?” 

Steve didn’t say a word, his body poised to strike. 

Barnes frowned at his silence. “Really, Stevie? After all this time, don’t you want to know how I’ve taken everything that matters to you?” He casually slapped Brock across the face with his flesh hand and smiled as Brock took the blow. Brock stood at attention, his eyes blankly staring forward, as if nothing had occurred. 

“I took your soulmate from you and made him my own. When I found myself here in this glorious modern world I recognized his pretty face. From your drawings. Your childish scribbles. Remember how your wall was covered with this face?” Barnes squinted at Jack, “And yours too, now that I think about it. But you’re not my type. I like _perfection_. And cheekbones.” He flicked his finger against Brock’s face.

“You’ve waited all these _decades_ for him and I got there first.” Barnes smiled with neat white teeth. “And I turned him against you. Set him hot on your trail. Made him your nemesis. You didn’t even know I was alive and I still managed to ruin your one hope, your one small slight dream of happiness. Wasn’t that fun?” 

Pierce sighed. “James, I know you’re enjoying this, but shouldn’t we—“ 

“You will be QUIET!” Barnes snapped at Pierce. “I will enjoy my triumph.” He pointed at Steve and Jack, “He will know that I am the best. I was always the best! He’ll never be as good as me. He’ll always be a scrawny little _whore_ getting fucked in an alley by the docks.” 

Madness flared in his eyes and Jack shrank back behind Steve, unnerved at the utter insanity of James Buchanan Barnes. “You were so lucky that I took you under my wing. I made sure that you ate— most of the time. Kept up your clientele. I was good to you, Stevie. I never let you _hope_ for anything better.” Steve’s arm muscles twitched under Jack’s fingers and Jack held his breath. 

Barnes gestured impatiently, he put his hand on Pierce’s shoulder. “Well? Don’t you have anything to say? Any snappy retort? A withering quip? Flapping your mouth used to be the only thing you were good at.”

Steve smiled, his eyebrow quirked as if he were bemused by the whole situation. He put his hands on his hips and then said softly, “All my life you’ve been there Bucky. Even in my sleep. And I’ve never properly said thank you for all the care and hard work you’ve put into me. Like putting out your cigarettes on the inside of my thighs so the tricks wouldn’t see them. That was downright considerate of you. So I want you to listen very carefully when I say _tick tick boom_.” 

Barnes looked confused. “What?” 

“Tick tick boom, asshole.” And Steve flung two blinking red charges into the midst of the armed guards. Then he pushed Jack to the ground and covered him, shielded him with his own body. The explosions were deafening, the spotlights shattered and the shock wave knocked the wind out of Jack. Earth rained down upon them, spattering like raindrops. 

Jack fought to catch his breath, Steve lay upon him. He was very, very still. His eyes fluttered.“St—eve!” Jack gasped in the darkness. His hands were sticky with wetness. _Oh God, please. Don’t_ — Jack didn’t finish the prayer because God had failed him too many times. “Hold on!” 

Steve seized Jack’s face in his hands, his own face contorted in agony from the shrapnel wounds in his back. “Shut up and listen Jack!” Rogers recited the Asgardian chant. “Say it back to me! Again!” Jack obeyed. It was so short. Three little words. 

Wasn’t it always the little things that tore out your heart?

“Now you run. You run and don’t you look back. If you look back,” A cough made blood drip from the corner of his mouth, “I’ll kill you myself for being stupid.”

“No.” Jack said. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.” They held each other's gaze for a long time and finally Steve nodded. 

Steve coughed again and spattered Jack’s face with blood.He rolled over onto his back, looked up at the stars that peeked through the dust and smoke. “I’ve always liked stars, Peaches.” His face softened and for a moment, Jack saw the small, battered boy underneath the shell of physical perfection. “I’m sorry that I cut them into you. If I’d known— If I could do it all over—.“ 

“You wouldn’t change a single fucking thing and you know it. Cut the bullshit, Steve.” 

Rogers grinned through his pain. “Yeah, but wasn’t it a pretty thought? There’s worse places to die than in your arms. I think we’ve visited a few of them, actually. That stinky world. Not the one with the vampires.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“You’re not going to die. I’ve worked too hard on you to let you go.” Jack brushed back Steve’s hair. “You’ve recovered from worse than this. I _know._ I was there!” He curled his fingers around Steve’s hand and squeezed. “Perfect specimens don’t get to give up that easy.” 

A scream of rage. “You killed Pierce! I was quite fond of him, he was a very useful tool. Your last little ploy was far too little. Far far too late.” Barnes rasped as he approached them. His metal arm hung limp against his side. “A disappointment to the end, Stevie.” 

Steve sighed, “I think I could take you still. Come a little closer and let’s see if I can tear out your throat with my teeth. Headbutt you to death. Suffocate you with your own spleen. That would be very, very satisfying.” 

“Not as satisfying as this.” Barnes called out, “ _Commander_! End him. End them _both_. This farce has gone on too long.”

Brock stepped out of the smoke, a small cut on his scalp streaking the side of his face with red. He held Steve’s blade in his hand and rolled it over his fingers, the edge catching the firelight. He said nothing and approached with murderous intent. 

“Slash them to ribbons, Commander. Show them what a good toy you are. You’re all mine and you’ll always be—“ Barnes stopped talking. 

It happened so fast. 

Jack barely blinked and it was over. 

Barnes clutched at his neck, stared in shock, in dismayed wonder at Rumlow’s betrayal. His life-blood pumped out around his fingers. Rumlow leaned in close and said in Barnes’ ear, “I have terrible taste in lovers.” Then he kicked at the back of Barnes’ legs, dropping the man to his knees as he gurgled and choked.

Jack’s mouth was open in awe. Brock flipped the knife into the ground at Steve’s side. “Everyone forgets what a fucking good actor I am. He’s all yours, Captain Crazypants. I'm so  _done._ ” 

Steve’s eyes gleamed as he picked up his blade. He crawled on all fours, shrapnel sticking out of his body. An ankle bent in the wrong direction and his suit in tatters. 

“Oh, _Bucky_?” He cooed with a singsongy lilt. “ _Buuuuucky…._ I fixed your broken toy. Did I forget to mention that? Silly me. Now I want you to know that tonight, for the first time in ninety years, I will sleep soundly. Because—“ He grabbed Barnes’ face, “And this is fucking important, so you listen! Because _I WIN!_ ” Then he slapped Barnes playfully on the cheek. “But I’m not stupid. I know you can heal from this. I’m not going to walk away and let you.” He held up the blade. “I like stars, but I’ve always _loved_  knives.” 

Jack looked away as Steve decapitated Barnes and tossed his head away into a pile of smoldering debris. Brock didn’t look away from the carnage illuminated by firelight, didn’t look away for a moment. Steve collapsed in a heap beside Barnes’ corpse. A small peaceful smile curled across his lips. 

“So what are we going to do now?” Jack finally asked as he surveyed the devastation around them.  

Brock shrugged, “We’re stuck here until Rogers wakes up.” Rogers’ body was already rejecting the shrapnel, spitting it out of the wounds as they closed. Brock patted Rogers down, located the AutoDoc cube and slapped a pain patch on him. The cube protested about lost network connections and Rogers’ body relaxed in relief from the pain. 

“About that…” Jack smiled, “Our travel options just got a lot more _flexible._ ” He stuck his hand down his pants, “I know the chant. He told me the chant! Where do you want to go?” Steve slowly started to regain consciousness. 

“We’re not taking him with us, are we?” Brock pleaded. Jack nodded, still stroking himself. “Oh _fuck_ me. Just— just— somewhere _happy,_ I guess?” He gave Barnes’ body a withering look and kicked dirt on it. “Just think happy thoughts. Nothing could possibly go wrong that way, right? My whole life just got destroyed. I had a good thing going here. Beloved heartthrob of a nation! And now, I’ve got nothing to live for.” He sighed dramatically. “Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts.” 

Rogers crooked his finger as the light from Jack’s tattoo flared. Brock knelt down to listen. His eyes grew wide with shock. “I’m— gonna be a _daddy_?” 

And then they were falling… 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Please let me know if you've enjoyed it or if I made you cry. Both reactions mean the world to me.
> 
> ADDITION: Brock got Ronnie pregnant because the AutoDoc reversed his vasectomy. Steve could smell it on her. 
> 
> The Spin off is called Reparations. It's linked above. Captain CrazyPants, Jack and Brock show up and take over in Chapter 10.

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